gahhh!! more tea!!!! (okay, fine!)

I've been trying (with success, mind you!) to finish up 10 teas this month. My ultimate goal is to whittle down my teas to 12 on the shelf with 4 Twinings staples stacked nearby. I.e., 16 total. I finally hit 30 teas a few days ago. I just barely set a new goal to drink up six more teas in May.

THEN… Dale gets home and hands me this bag from our Chinese friend. "Any cookies?" he enquires as I peer in. "I don't think so," I tell him ruefully, all the while knowing that my eye has alighted upon the actual contents: TEA!!! Now, this friend is known for sending Dale home with tea that has Chinese writing all over it. This time, however, there are some Chinese classics that are all labelled (yay!) and one labeled as "Taiwan." I opened the Taiwanese canister and found that it had a vacuum-packed pouch in it. Okay, I think, it's from Taiwan, and it's definitely air-deprived. Must be green or a green oolong.

I haven't opened the pouch yet, because I've got so much older tea to drink, and opening the pouch would mean accelerated aging of what is probably an awesome tea. It'll be hard, but I plan to hold onto it until I finish the sixth tea. Then I'm going to drink it up until it's gone, so it doesn't get stale and I can appreciate it fully. I'm mostly curious to know if I'll recognise it… is it an Ali Shan? Li Shan? Jin Xuan? Some green tea? I won't know for a while… :: eager eager ::

So much for 30 teas in the house. :: cackle ::

~me… the tea fiend...

Piano tuning

So, it's been about two years since I had Maelstrom tuned.  I know he needs tuning because generally speaking, pianos need to be tuned every 6 months.  But I can't figure out how bad it is.  I only know that for the past year or so, I've been increasingly aware that when I play, it hurts something inside my bones.  I can never place a finger on exactly what it is but I know that feeling.  It means the pitch is off.  Probably flat, as that's what pianos usually do when they're not tuned, but nonetheless, I can't tell what it is.  This morning I hit the corresponding key on my keyboard to the keys on the piano.  I found a few particularly icky areas but even those were not certain to me.  It still sounds close enough to my ear to not sound "bad" on any individual keys outside those I know best - the C4-C5 range.  C4, D4, E4, F4, G4… and the sharps in between… they interchangeably sound awful to me, even though I swear I liked the tone of the piano previously and still like the rest of the notes.

Something's definitely off.  I hate not knowing how to discern what, though!  It's simply not in my brain's abilities to have "perfect pitch" I guess.  I should probably be happy I can tell there's even anything off at all.  But whenever I call the piano tuner guy, I always get asked, "Does it need a pitch raise?"  I always say, "Um… mayyyybe…?"  I don't know.  I know what that means.  I don't know if my piano needs it.  Do most people who play pianos know this?

Now, the thing that REALLY baffles me is this.  I know, beyond a doubt, that the tea kettle's first whistle is a very definite A.  I believe it's A5, to be exact.  I don't know how they got that to tune that way, but I can hum to it every morning as I bustle around waiting on that water.  Not only that, but I can hear that sound in my audio memory so precisely that I can hum it just before the thing goes off, and I can hum it on command just before hitting A5 on my keyboard.  To me - remember that my pitch isn't perfect - it sounds perfect.  I know I'm in the ball park.  I know that I'm darned close.  And my voice remembers where to go to hit that one note, even without prompting.  So somewhere in my head is the ability to duplicate what I hear, at least.  The problem, then, is that I don't hear some sublety in pitch.

Is this related to CAPD?  Or am I overanalyzing this?  I mean, am I putting down my abilities, like Dale says I do, believing that I've actually got a processing problem even when it comes to music?  Or is it that I'm quite normal and that the majority of the population cannot tell the difference, either?

I may never know the answer, and it doesn't matter.  But my curiosity often kills me on this.  Mum always told me I was tone-deaf.  I have often wondered if she has perfect pitch.  Much of my family was music on a hobby level at the very least.  I love music.  If I were tone-teaf, I know I would not be able to know that the tea kettle hums a nice happy A5, nor would I be able to match it so closely.  I've worked hard, off and on, for years, to get as good as this as I have.  Musicians practice far more regularly and longer than I have.  Why do I think that I should have an ear as good as a good musician's ear?  Why do I think that?  I don't know.  It might be the whole Mum-says-you-must-be-perfect thing.  But… I don't have to play for people.  So why do I care about proving I can do it?

I love music.  I love challenges.  Music is probably the biggest challenge I have ever had skill-wise.  It confounds me as much as speech and colour, because these are things that words cannot truly describe.  How do you explain warmth?  How do you explain the tingles that go up your spine when you hit upon a realization, the perfect note, or the perfect lyrical construction?

Bah.  Who knows.  The tuner guy is here.  LOL.

~me

Bucky Balls

http://on.aol.com/video/buckyball-manufacturers-refuse-to-comply-with-recall-517745232?hp=1&playlist=127155&icid=maing-grid7%7Cmain5%7Cdl15%7Csec1_lnk3%26pLid%3D298644#_videoid=517742698

GO BUCKY BALLS!!!!!

Seriously.  It's not that I don't care if children have been injured by these things.  I do care.  What I care more about is how these kids got them in the first place.  Did they kill their parents, go to the store, rip open a package, and eat the darned things?  No.  Somehow, someone somewhere close to home, allowed them to get to them.  Sure, if they didn't exist, the kids couldn't get new ones.  How about if kids don't exist in the first place?  I think we should ban reproduction.  You want your kids, huh?  Well, I want bucky balls.  My buying bucky balls didn't seem to stop people from having kids.  Why should people having kids prevent me from having bucky balls?

I'm sorry, but parents know better than to give magnets - of any kind - to a child who is going to stuff anything they get their hands on in their mouth.  And if they don't, it's not the manufacturer's (or the store's) fault.  Nor mine.

I lead you to this prank, which unfortunately, is where we seem to be headed:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThnOpdoHibg

Don't believe me?  Would YOU give your kids a dangerous item?  Would YOU ban a product like a knife, a car, a pencil (how many kids get stabbed with lead pencils every year?), computers, electricity…?!  Egads, America, GET REAL.  These objects do not require their being banned.  They require your watching your kids!!  Seriously!!  Tell your local reps or whomever to get off their lazy asses and do some real work.  This shit has got to stop.  I mean, heck, I went out unsupervised with friends and leapt from tree to tree over a swamp when I couldn't even swim.  Should we ban swamps and trees?

Where do we draw the line between intentionally dangerous and people who don't think?

~w

Caaaats vs breakfast

I have begun a hazardous ritual this morning.  I lead Sinclair into his favourite room and give him a handful for cat food.  Then I shut the door in Gizmo's face and lead him to the bathroom.  I give him a few morsels, knowing that he's pudgy already because he gobbles up most of what is served to all three of them each morning.  Kitty is always sleeping so I've stopped worrying about her in the mornings and try to snag her later for a trio-cat-treat.  She can hold her own with Gizmo, it's Sinclair that's bashful.  Anywho, Gizmo gets shut in the bathroom with his morsels.  The only reason I give him anything is because I don't want him to think he's being punished.  I often throw him in there when he's being a turd.

I then go eat my breakfast in peace, saving a small slice of egg for Sinclair.  He gets let out just as I'm finishing, he does his "not sure about this egg on the floor" thing while I finish up, then he gets my plate to lick.  This he usually does with the air of someone who firmly believes I was holding out on him but was too polite to say anything, that sort of relief like, "Oh, good, I don't have to pretend anymore."  Then he ravenously licks the plate, which is pretty much liquefied egg, and completely ignores the solid, yolky egg on the floor (I thought he LIKED the yolk?!  Not today?).  Meanwhile, I transfer my tea to my desk and let the Beast (Gizmo) out.  At first he hangs around me, lavishing me with praise for the treat and for being me (yay) and then his ears prick up a split second before he turns into a black streak headed for the kitchen.  He turns into our vaccuum cleaner, driving off Sinclair's final attempts to "tolerate" the leftover egg, and then in about 30 seconds I can go in and pick up an unimaginably clean plate while he washes the floor with his tongue.  And I wonder why I keep forgetting to mop.

Despite the extra effort, it worked this morning.  The catch is that I know they will expect this every time I eat at the counter now… or worse, they'll simply expect it whenever they want to expect it, much like Kitty.  I would be stronger if it weren't for Sinclair's former habit of getting fed at my desk prior to Gizmo coming on board.  He's such a dignified, polite character, and it's hard to resist him.  Alas, we'll see how it goes.  It's a rabbit hole, I know.  But it sure was nice to eat for once without two sets of eyes on me.  :: sigh ::

~w

Google Chrome update

http://www.pcworld.com/article/2032380/chrome-update-polishes-spell-check-and-fixes-bugs.html

I don't know if the image will stick around, but in the article, look for the image where it shows how Chrome has auto-updated itself.

I think that's funny that they added "bettar cpell chek"... at first I thought my colleague had gotten a virus, but it's legit.  Go figure...

bah humbug

Today is my birthday.  Stephanie, here at work, redecorated my cubby with pink balloons and streamers and made me wear a tiara set with pinkish stones.  I currently have it on like a Ferengi.  She didn't tell me how to wear it.

 

I will never openly admit this right now because of all the pink, but I like Stephanie.  This was one heck of a payback to what I did to her desk recently.  I owe her now.  I soooo owe her...

Victory will be mine!

~w

Kyrie

I was reading some blog posts (or comments to such) about APD and stumbled across the title, "Kyrie."  Someone thought it was Carrie and that it was related to Star Wars.  I never had issues with this particular one to my knowledge, although I remember knowing that I couldn't make some things out for a long time.  I just never "misheard" it.  At any rate, it made me remember that I VERY much like the song, and had to go listen to it.  So I drudged it out of my iTunes library and now it's filling my earballs with its awesome, albeit repetitive, sound.

The first thing that I noticed after the slightly annoying start of high-pitched [whatevers] is that it has synthesizers.  Heavy ones.  Mostly on my left side... I do have headphones on, by the way.  I get that sensation of chills in my eardrums... that slightly shivering feeling that's so very pleasant.  It's almost like someone is plucking strings in my ears and tickling my spine with the attached vibrations.  I also become aware of a slightly distant metallic object being struck, like one of those little cymbals in a tamborine.  There are echoes of the voice singing and little echoey smacks.  And then I have to keep rewinding, because I keep swearing I hear an alarm going off, like a smoke detector, but I'm not sure.  At first I ripped the headphones off my head, listening intently.  Then I realized it was in the song.  It had a rhythm to it.  Annoying!  I hate those.  But now that I know what it is, I'm OK with it, even though parts of my body still recoil with fear over the sound.

The song fills out and from this point I stop hearing the individual pieces.  It becomes one huge pile of powerful monotony with an occasional tidbit of focus, lots of rhythm, and then the bridge of "Oh, oh, oh's" that bring my body to the ready.  I feel the chill settle into my spine, through my shoulders.  Then the music dies down some and the echoed repetition of the words draw the slight shiver out of me, both a relief and let down at the same time.  I wanted to stay there.  Yet, the release is immediately followed by the plateau until the song abruptly ends.  There are guitars!  Oh yeah!  I remember hearing those before!  Some of the smaller hairs along my shoulder blades stand on end and wear microscopic holes in the fabric of my shirt.  It's funny how the repetition is doable when I'm engaged.  This is not a song that you can talk over.  It wants to be totally absorbed into your bloodstream, or it will shatter your sense of well-being altogether.  Thankfully, I'm very good at becoming absorbed in things like this.  That's why it's in my iTunes library.  Somewhere.  Oh yeah, and Mark Schultz does an interesting rendition of it, but he's NOT Mr. Mister.  Frankly, his version is far noisier.  It also lacks that echoey eighties feel that I love so very much, and the bridge of Oh's totally throws me into a state of utter, desperate confusion, while nausea sets in for a split second until it heads back towards the noise.  Sigh.  Sometimes the original is simple better.

It never ceases to amaze me how my brain handles different things, though.  I mean, I can hear little plinks in the background of music, but I can't understand the words of someone on the phone without considerable, and exhausting, effort.  For instance, earlier today, I was asked to attend a 1.5-hour phone conference.  There are a few things I hate more than phone conferences, but from a sense of exhaustion and self-worth perspective, not too many.  Being in a real meeting over an hour in length is worse.  Not knowing the subject material in such a real meeting amplifies my discomfort by several nuclear reactions.  This particular phone conference wasn't that bad, but I knew it was probably a waste of time for me to go given the subject matter had little to do with me right now.  Nonetheless, I did not want to seem adversarial in any way so I nodded, grabbed my laptop "for notes" and headed off to the room.  Let me back up briefly...

I hate real meetings more than these phone conferences because I have to pretend I'm paying full attention.  By pretend, I mean, sit up in my chair and act attentive.  This is more distracting to me, and therefore, I tend to pay attention less.  Then I realize this, try to really pay attention, get exhausted trying to understand people, realize I'm slouching and looking tired again, and the cycle keeps repeating.  At least with phone conferences, I can appear distracted.  But I digress.

The room was quiet, with only three other people in it.  I was surprised, and pleased that I knew all of them well enough to feel relaxed.  However, the speaker was muffled and staticky to my ears even as I sat down, and I knew it was absolutely pointless for me to waste any of my mental resources on trying to decipher any of it.  So I didn't bother.  I knew three things:  Someone else was supposed to be taking the notes, I had absolutely no clue what the agenda even meant (at least there was one), and the meeting minutes would be dispersed and shared later.  So, I opened my laptop and began documenting a server that needed to be documented, catching occasional phrases out of context.  A few times, it was so out of context that I had fits of uncontrollable giggles, which amused my compadres.  Glad I could be of service.  I managed to get a whole server done in a chair that was way too high off the ground.  Apparently the system they were talking about has a major hole in it.  That's what I got out of the meeting.  Oh yeah, and I left a half-hour early for lunch because that's when I finished my documentation of that one server, and the subject matter hadn't even begun to make itself evident to me yet.  I'm so awesome.

Not that long ago, my boss asked a couple of us (myself and one other) to do some "brown bag" lunches, where we try to teach people and answer questions.  Ha!  Yeah, I don't think so.  That involves being the center of attention in a situation that is not totally under my control.  I get super spooked by those scenarios.  I immediately managed to talk my colleague into doing the talking, and I'd stick around for moral support and information where needed, as well as the design aspects of the sessions.  She was fine with that and took my professed discomfort quite seriously.  I was very grateful for that.  Anywho, we were joking about it later on and my boss was incredulous when he found out that I really, really hate standing up in front of people.  "You are NOT!" he said.  I totally understand why people might think that I'm OK with the attention.  I've come out of my shell a lot in the past several years.  I joke constantly.  I love talking to friends and colleagues.  I even pop in each morning and go, "HELLLLOOOOO my wonderful little peoples!" as I greet my colleagues - of which there are eight, total, and usually only three to five present to witness this display.  The thing is, I KNOW all of these people.  They know me.  Very well.  And they're all in little cubicles, not staring at me expectantly, not wanting anything from me, no questions on the backs of their heads.  I say this last part because they're generally doing the work when I glean their attention.

In other words, I like to attract attention, and converse, and ramble about whatever is on my wandering little mind.  I do not like structured, expectant sessions with lots of potential for appearing like an idiot.  Appearing like an idiot and acting like one are completely different things to me.  Seriously.

So yeah, I may seem bubbly and sunny and like I'd be the perfect speaker for conveying some new information.  I am very much not that person.  To do this, I would need to have a very strong, passionate grasp on the subject matter, knowing it inside and out, with a very firm belief in what I plan to discuss.  It has to be personal for me, or I flounder, stutter, and have trouble hearing people if they have questions.  I'd have to do it in the morning when my mind is most alert and at the ready - not when I'm starving or have just had a carb crash, such as at noon with or without a snack.  Noon IS lunchtime for me.  And, I'd have to do it in a controlled environment... one where questions are forcibly limited to the subject matter at hand, outside noises are kept at bay, and the audience isn't talking over me or checking their cell phones for email.  Very little, if any, of these requirements could be met, and honestly, are probably not worth the effort when other people are perfectly fine doing the job instead.

I've occasionally been attracted to acting, but never acted on it (haha) because as soon as I begin to imagine doing it, I remember that in addition to a huge time commitment, it would also mean performing in front of people.  The cold sense of fear that twists my spleen into a knot is overwhelming, so I have always quickly discarded the idea of acting.  DND is perfect for this aspect of myself, after all... and tea parties work, too.  I have outlets for my dramatic side.  Good ones!

Anywho, ramble over.  I've got some more tea to make.

~w

Microsoft vs Google vs Apple

I wasn't around when the Z1 came about, or the ENIAC, or the UNIVAC.  They're ancient history in my world, an important part of computer evolution.  But I was around to see the concept of ARPAnet develop into what we now view as the Internet... when I first learned of computers talking to each other, it was through one three channels:  Modem to modem, PC Link, or a Mainframe.  And all throughout my early life, I remember hearing buzzwords such as Intel, Packard Bell, MicroSoft, WANG, IBM, NEC, Apple, Commodore, Atari, WordStar, WordPerfect, DOS, Mainframe, AOL, Word Processor, Tandy, BASIC, ZIP drives, TAPE MEDIA!!, Pong... yeah, I'm dating myself.  LOL.

All things considered, then, I reckon I was born near the dawn of the Personal Computer Age.

Since then, I've also watched as the BBS concept has evolved into lists, forums, messageboards, and groups.  I've watched e-mail take off from modem-downloaded text to websites embedded in full-colour, sendable with a tap on someone's phone while they're sitting in a pool sipping Chardonnay.  Computers went from mainframes to personal computers to internet-connected nodes and now they're starting to become one big mainframe in some cases, content being stored online in the "cloud" and computers themselves becoming more and more just a dummy terminal for access.  (I don't like that part.  I like my content at home with me.  Just sayin'.)  What was once an excellent way secretly exchange messages over long distances has turned into Identity Theft Central.  It used to be that getting a letter was routine.  Now the post offices are starting to close.  Remember when they tried to charge a nickel for each email to make up for their lost revenue?  Yeah!  I do!

Cable TV.  It was once the replacement for Pay TV.  The idea was that if you didn't like commercials, you paid to get rid of them.  That was the deal.  At some point that changed and commercials made their way back into paid entertainment.  Now "cable" doesn't just mean TV.  It means internet, TV, VoIP, streaming.  Routers were something only the Mysterious Nerds had.  Modems went from modulating and demodulating to pulling and pushing vast quantities of data from all over the world to a plethora of home computers, one or more for each family member ages birth and up.

DragonSpeak is the first voice recognition software that I remember hearing about.  There may have been others.  It was for transcribing notes so you didn't have to type them out.  Now we have Siri and Google working for us, and surprisingly, they work well half the time.

I remember ASCII art being printed on long strings of computer paper, complete with holes along each side.  I was totally floored when I first saw Paint.  I was even more floored when I saw whatever Apple had for a drawing product back in the day.  Remember how you could draw a few lines, then pass a rotating line over it and get Chicago 19 album cover art?  Yeah!!  Now we've got PhotoShop, complete with LAYERS.

It was wondrous when games came on cartridges, a great change to when they were one-game-per-machine.  It was pretty cool when they began coming out on diskettes, and later, CDs.  Then they were downloadable without leaving your chair.  Now you go to an App Store or Google Play where there are gazillions of them for a buck.

Remember music?  It used to live on the radio, records and tapes.  CDs were later touted as "virtually indestructible."  (Not to be a dweeb, but some of my tapes are almost 30 years old now.  Admittedly, I've never lost a CD to a tape-munching deck, though, and they don't have crackles and pops in them.  On the other hand, the sound quality sounds fake to me at times.  But I digress.)  For a time, music and software became an underground trading society and suddenly people knew of bands they didn't even know they might like... and that viruses were often packaged in strange ways.  The RIAA and anti-piracy campaigns came onto the scene and broke most of that up.  Then online stores came out with listening previews.  THAT was pure genius.  Music and bookstores are now going out of business, all for the sake of laziness, efficiency, cost, and/or instant gratification, depending on who you talk to.  Albums still exist, but songs can be purchased separately.  Books are searchable rather than scannable.

Viruses have evolved from extension-hiding beasties to drive-by infections from websites.

Companies have changed hands, .COMs rose and fell, and "geeks"  went from being unusual freaks to desirable clubs.

And people still talk.  A lot.  But that's changed, too.

We still have get-togethers and parties of course.  But our phones have evolved to be a single landline that swapped its connection between modem and phone call to cell phones, Skype, iChat, and Google Voice.  We've also watched the rise of Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Google Hangout, and more chat clients than I can even count.

As I write this, some of the early giants have climbed out of the depths of antiquity and found themselves evolving - both out of the need to survive (heck, for me, it's KEEP UP!!) and out of the need to create, polish, and perfect.

Google used to compete with a dogpile.  Now it's competing with Microsoft.  It's competing with Apple, which goes into hibernation but somehow always wakes up again.

We are connected.  All the time.  Almost anywhere.  At speeds.  Far faster.  Than downloading.  Porn.

And that, my fellow technoweenies, is progress.

It might also assist in the collapse of the world as we know it.  But until that day, boys and girls, REJOICE in all that is awesome!!  I am!

~w

Pathogen Misconceptions!

The other day a friend wanted to meet up.  I'm like, sure, not an issue.  I went on to say how I was feeling better finally after my uvula had swollen up so much that it was using my tongue as a slip and slide into a pool of stomach acid.  What caused that, I was asked.  No clue, I said, but I had a one-day cold two days ago, so maybe it's related.  Maybe we shouldn't hang out, I was told.  I don't want my girlfriend getting sick, she just started a new job.  Okay, I agreed.  I explained that even the doc person didn't know what was wrong and prescribed antibiotics just in case it was bacterial.  Oh, in that case, come on over, I was told.  Huh?  Okay.

This made me chuckle.  I hadn't realized he was predisposed to the same misconception that much of the general public appears to be in agreement on.  Taking antibiotics means you're no longer contagious.  WRONG!!

If it's an undetermined cause, taking antibiotics does not mean the infection is gone.  It means the doc wanted to be safe in case it happened to be bacterial, and it is not possible that whatever invaded your body is now under fire and dying a miserable death.  However, most colds and flus are caused by viruses.  So, antibiotics don't mean anything unless the pathogen has been confirmed.  In fact, they're overprescribed because of this exact misunderstanding over the nature of germ types.  And it doesn't matter how many times you explain it to people, most will argue with you about it because they think drugs can cure everything and since you're not a doctor, you can't possibly know anything.  (Like they can.)  Not to say my friend argued about it with me... he's not really that type, and besides, I didn't bother to voice my understanding of the matter.

Back to the subject at hand, though.  Taking antibiotics means that one's body is under additional strain because any good bacteria is targeted as much as bad bacteria.  So, if anything, taking these things means that a person is more prone to suffering at the hands of additional crud (namely, viruses, which are immune to antibiotics) because the immune and nutrition centers have been compromised even further.  That's reason enough to avoid seemingly healthy people that might be carrying something that has not caused an illness in the carrier.  Doesn't mean someone else can't catch it, after all.

Anywho, I'm going to visit with my peoples anyway because I trust my body to do its thing and be stronger for it.  There was some theory somewhere that if the body doesn't have anything to fight off that it would fight itself, hence so many allergies and such these days.  It's an immunity powerhouse meant to kill pathogens.  If it doesn't have its past time, it turns on itself.  Interesting theory.  Not going to go exposing myself to typhoid on purpose, though.  But I'm not going to stop living, either.

Oh!!  And I was reading about helping diarrhea, which is a common side effect of taking antibiotics.  Several articles mentioned BRAT - bananas, rice, applesauce, toast.  They also said, "Lots of water, but NO CAFFEINE EVER!!"  I just happened to be having a nice long indulgent sip of a new, fresh tea that had arrived on my doorstep when I read that.  I made a mental middle finger and stuck it up.  I wasn't about to be told to refrain from a nice warm cuppa after a long day of drinking copious amounts of water and tasting the nice, dull - yet also metallic - taste of antibiotic in my mouth all afternoon.  Screw you, I thought.  I don't mind diarrhea.  I do mind not having my cuppa!!  :)

Life is good though.  I feel better than I've felt in a while.  For one thing, I have fresh tea and my uvula has retreated from my stomach!!

~nv

ahhh cuppa

Nothing quite like having a nice, clean desk and surrounding area.  That really REALLY needed to get done!  Place looks halfway decent, now.  Just gotta clean up the junk desk.

Now I'm enjoying a nice hot cup of Earl Grey, some cookies, and computer time. :)

I love not being sick anymore... and I love life, too.  Especially when it's like this.  :D :D :D

~w

ugh

I officially hate this project I'm working on.

So far I've tried booting off several flash drives, the optical, a couple of discs, and... nothing.  Then I tried installing to a VM connected directly to the partition throw a raw file.  That failed miserably, but was the closest I got.  Until I recognized this little command called "bless."  I then "blessed" the efi files of my optical and immediately rebooted.  Lo!!  I was able to get Windows 8's installer to load!!

Then it gave me some additionally horrible news.  My disk is EFI, not GPT.  Windows 8 only likes GPT disks.  Says it won't boot, either.  I'm like, screw you, and went back into the Mac and wiped out that whole partition so it was unallocated.  Then I tried again.  (Had to rerun my command for bless of course, but I wrote a shell script for that.)  YAY!!  Got farther!!  Then as it reallocates the space for me, it goes, "Nope, sorry, still EFI.  Screw you."

GARHAHAHAHGHGAHGHGHGHGHGHHHHHHBLARRRRRGHGHGHGHHH!!!!!!!!!!

So, I'm thinking this is one of two things.

1. I need to put W8 on my SSD, which is bootable because it's my primary drive or

2. I need to wipe out my storage drive temporarily, figure out how to make it bootable, and/or put Windows on there first then if needed re-clone the drive back to it from the original.

If I could figure out how to make the Mac rewrite the MBR so Windows thinks the drive is bootable, I might be able to get somewhere here.  I suspect that because Windows cannot touch Mac drives, it's totally wonkered out by all this crap.

I'm seven or so hours into this.  I'm exhausted and still recovering from that damned flu.  I think I'll sleep on this and then struggle with it more later when I'm more refreshed.  It's so hard to let go of, though.  Argh!

~the irritated Mountain Lion and hopefully some day Windows 8 user

ps did you notice that Windows 8 can be abbreviated W8 which spells Wait?  lololol

in sickness and in health

Not the marriage part.  That's fine.  Dale's always supportive of me in my personal decisions... what I meant by the subject "in sickness and in health" is that I cannot stop thinking about computers even when I'm so sick I'm asleep during the daytime.  Yes, the daytime.  Today is day four of a flu that knocked me out for the past three days.  I finally felt better yesterday afternoon - well enough to enjoy a cup of tea.  Yes, TEA!!  I hadn't had tea for days!!  DAYS!!!!!

I took another day off today knowing I wouldn't want to work with a dripping sneezing nose and uncontrollable cough... although in truth, I will likely get a few things done at home later today once I'm done poking at my personal laptop.

For today, I have installed a new hard drive in my laptop.  BUT I've been having mucho trouble installing Windows 8.  Dammit!  So far I've concluded that Talon doesn't like booting from Windows 8 discs.  I'm going to try to bootcamp from a usb flash drive instead.  We'll see how that works.

Black screen with underscore.  Not good.  We shall see how my new procedure works...

~w

ps I need to eat, too, don't I... lol

Informatik

Yanno, it's funny how sometimes I'll stumble across a song, really like it, and never really look into the artist.  Today's example is the song Autonomous by Informatik, which I've had for at least the last seven years.  I remember having it at the apartment Dale and I shared because I'd take walks and it was a great walking song.  The funny thing is that I do NOT recall when I first heard it or how I stumbled across it, but I do know that I purchased it from iTunes in 2006.

So, I ran across it in my collection yesterday and thought, ooh!  So I had another listen and thought, "Gee, what else has Informatik done, anyway?"  Turns out, quite a lot.  I've got some iTunes credit so I ended up buying three albums and a used CD from Amazon.

It's interesting music, considered electronic... To me, the vocals go back and forth between obviously manipulated into sounding creepy or evil and a sort of bass - you know the Mmm Mmm guy on Crash Test Dummies?  A bit higher than that, I think.  It's strangely emotional.  I've poked at the lyrics, too, and many of them are actually pretty good - it's not all cookie-cutter anger or bad-love.  In fact, many are quite insightful, even if not beautifully poetic.  Simple, straightforward, poignant.  The music itself is, well, electronic.  Much is repetitive as all electronic music should be on the surface.  But like good electronic music, it has little samples and bridges here and there that keep it interesting.

I would call this a cross between the band Pulp and three genres:  Techno, rock, and heavy metal.  It's a very refreshing combination.

Some other thoughts for today:

Why does electronic music make my brain feel all weird and focused?

I may have lots of "mommy" issues (just look back in my posts, you'll surely find something to illustrate this) but recently I came to realize that I'm one heck of a lucky person to have a mother like I had.  I also recognize that she is who she is.  I feel that a recent funeral a few weeks ago may have had a much stronger affect on me and expedited these realizations.  I know they were already arriving on their own but it's like this huge blanket was lifted off me that day.  It also feels like my emotions have been rekindled, and I can feel again... not that I wasn't feeling before, but it used to be that I had overflowing emotions that required artistic and written outlets, and since becoming so content, I just feel tired all the time.  I feel awake for the first time in a while, writing a bit, thinking, mulling things over, drawing, playing music, enjoying music.  I feel the love I have for Mum, I feel the love I have for Dale far more than usual, I feel the joy and love in his family, and I feel empathy for people again.  In some ways, it's almost painful, but it's a good kind of pain.  It almost feels like a switch was flipped or a dam was broken, but without all the fearful tears of my past.

Anywho, off to neaten my den... that's the other thing, I am in an organization sort of mood... but I think that's only because of my listening to Informatik.  It's that kind of music that brings me into this mode.  It's a good thing... I desperately need exercise and have not been good about doing it without inspiration.  Now I have that.  Hopefully it sticks around...

~nv

St George's Bay

The title doesn't really mean much.  It's just a lyric that Martin Page mentions in "Put On Your Red Dress."  I'm listening to this right now and looking at Gizmodo, right into his eyes, and realizing once again how very lucky I am.  Not only do I have a super-special group of critters, but I've got Dale in my life, awesome colleagues, awesome family, and awesome friends.  I'm also not oblivious to the fact that I've had some friends in the past who were instrumental in my success today, whether they're still around me now or not.

I've also found that the majority of music is sorely lacking in many things… lyrics seldom have much meaning, most importantly.  I can't help but like things like Ace of Base's Golden Ratio with is wonderful energy and raspy vocals, but in truth, the lyrics are shy of decent.  It becomes very evident to me just how bad some stuff is when I listen to the wonderful likes Richard Marx, Arlo Guthrie, Weird Al, and earlier Chicago.  Yeah, I know, I put Weird Al in there… how can I compare him to the likes of Arlo Guthrie, who tells a wonderful story?  Well, I look for artists, not just story tellers.  Weird Al is definitely a good parodist, nobody can deny that, methinks.  Anywho, this caliber of music is just really hard to find.  It's helpful in some ways because it helps me get to know the artists I really like or love, and ignore the rest.  Lets me memorize songs and sing along.  On the other hand, there are a few good ones that come out of hiding from time to time.  Yay!  And nothing can beat the revved up techno remixes of my favourites.  Not as good as the originals, I know, but egads, when you're looking for a good dance move, you've gotta go with something.

Off to drink my Irish Breakfast tea now.  :)

Happy Harmonies,

~nv

Financial Aid

I was surprised to find that Harvard is less than $60,000 per semester.  Not exactly cheap, but far less than I'd expected.  However, I was further surprised to find that Harvard's financial aid office believes that even poor students deserve a chance at a Harvard education and have increasingly offered ways to finance their education there once admitted.  Then I read the disclaimer.  While they believe in helping a family get their kid into Harvard, they do not believe in helping a student into Harvard.  If they did, it would not matter what the parents' financial status was like.  It would be based on the adult student's financial status, instead.  The reason this disturbs me is because it's a generally accepted premise that parents must put their kids through college.  So, not all students have equal financial opportunities after all.  At least, not in the beginnings of their adult lives.  I count myself extremely lucky that I was denied financial aid in my early twenties because of the meager wages my mother made the year before I supported her on my even more meager wage while deciding to go back to school.  Why?  Because like in my first two weeks of high school where I was denied a week of shop class because I was too poor to buy myself a pair of boots, I was given the opportunity to stretch beyond the supposed limits of society once again.  Instead of going for a college education and putting myself into debt like I was told is the proper way to get a good job, I went out and got a good job.  Then I went back for a few credits here and there, letting work pay for the credits when I passed with flying colours, keeping myself out of debt.  I've gone along with much of society, but overall, have largely ignored some of the choices I could have made in order to "fit in."  I've done things mainly because /I/ wanted to, not because of what someone else expected of me.  I am very lucky.  What I'm trying to say is that if anyone out there is reading this and is stuck in some place where you think you need to comply with the world's confining wishes of what you should do with your life, know that there are other things you could be doing instead.  You don't need a college degree to get a job.  Sure, it might help, but it's not needed.  What is needed in anything you do is determination and the will to do it, working around obstacles as needed and taking as much time as it takes to do what you want to do.  Don't let anyone tell you you must become something you don't want to be.  Unless, of course, you want to be what others want you to be.  That's fine, too.  Me, I'm not having kids.  Just not my thing.  I may eventually get that degree.  But it won't be because I worry about my job status or what others think of me.  It'll be because I want to obtain something for me.  I hope I can some day pass this onto my nephew, or onto my friends' kids, not as a deterrent of any sort, but as a reminder that their strengths will see them through, not their unquestioning compliance with what is normal.  Note to parents:  You do NOT have an obligation to help finance your children's college education.  Once your kid is eighteen, that kid is legally an adult.  Now it's your choice to put them through college, or not.  Give them the world on a platter, or teach them how to fight for themselves.  Do the best you can for your own kid, because only you know your kid and your circumstances.  Thanks for listening!  :)  ::stepsoffsoapbox::

----- From Harvard's financial aid site (not by any means unusual for a college to say, by the way):

Can I apply for Harvard's financial aid independently of my parents?

No, in 99% of the cases. We feel strongly that your parents have an obligation to help finance your college education. Our aid is available only to students whose families would not otherwise be able to send them to Harvard.

What if my parents refuse to pay for my college education?

There may well be a serious problem. To be fair to all our students, we can base our financial aid decisions only on ability and not willingness to pay, and a decision to attend Harvard must be made by you and your parents.

Thanksgiving

We had family over for thanksgiving yesterday. It's a weird holiday for me because when I was growing up, I was told I was part Cherokee (American Indian, Indian, or Native American depending on the political correctness era you're in). In school, I learned that the first thanksgiving in America included the Indians of the area, and the Pilgrims. The Pilgrims had a bountiful harvest because of the Indians that helped them learn about planting and harvesting in their new climate. So, when they harvested their good bounty, they got together with the Indians as a way of thanking them as well as being thankful for surviving their first year. At some point I realized it was probably not just about thanking the Indians, but also about sharing in both directions… The Indians brought some food, they brought some food, and together they had more between them. The perceived harmony between them at that time later led me to be fairly bitter when the settlers later took over the Indians' land. Back then, I wasn't as forgiving of my other ancestors as I am now. Now I see things in a different light - both sides had good, both sides had bad, both sides were human after all. Who knows what the heck happened way back then… it's not like history books don't change, so if you weren't there, you are depending on the writer's interpretation of the events, not necessarily fact. It doesn't matter much now, what's done is done. But it still irks me at times. LOL.

I don't know how much of all that is accepted today… the way Thanksgiving is explained nowdays seems to be that it was pre-dated in America by the Canadian version, and American settlers began celebrating as thanksgiving for a good landing, leaving out the whole story of the Indians and Pilgrims altogether. What did I say about history books changing? Meh?

At any rate, I now see it as an excuse to get together with Dale's family and cook together and host a place for the getting together and eating together. I like it. When my mother first learned of my newly absorbed larger family (on Dale's side), she said, "Good, now you have the family you always wanted." I remember feeling baffled by this. I didn't remember ever telling her I wanted a brother or sister, or a larger family than the two of us, but somehow she figured I did. Maybe parental guilt, or something I said that I don't remember but which she still saw. What I remember wanting was a father. That dream was shattered when I learned what mine had done in his later years. No biggie, though… I've had a few good father figures in my life to pull life lessons from, and so I've learned that it was a good thing I hadn't known my father because maybe I wouldn't have turned out to be me. But I digress again. The fact is, I DO like having an extended family that I can be so close to. I sometimes wish we could all live closer to each other, but it's all good.

This is all stuff I've been reflecting on this morning as I sit here at my desk in front of a nice macbook with a purring kitten next to me, drinking tea "la ren cha" style and eating leftovers - this time, pumpkin pie made by my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. Life really cannot be better than this. I realize this rather often these days, and knowing how some of my friends and family suffer through life, and seeing stories on the news of some awful tragedies that happen, well… I know I have it really good. I guess it's human nature to be self-centered and selfish in many ways, but it's so humbling to recognise the streak of luck I've encountered for the past several years.

I look at the kitten and tell him all the time how hard it is to explain to him how much love I have for him, and how sometimes it just makes you think you should be shaking all over but it's only inside. I tell him how lucky I am to have him. He just sits there and purrs his agreement. Then I tell him how I get that for Dale, too, but in a different way. He still purrs in agreement. Finally I realise that he is hoping that the pie I'd been eating, and left a small morsel of, might be slid across the desk in his direction. So I smile and slide it across the desk. He licks the plate clean, purring happily, then hops down and takes off for the warmer livingroom furniture.

The kitten just came back. I have nothing tangible left to give him, but he is hugging me with his paws like he simply wants to be here. Perhaps I'm warmer than the couch. I'll take it.

~w

Pride... literally

Our cats are interesting to observe.

Kitty:  18 year old female cat who loves food.  She's a bit overweight at 11 pounds and isn't afraid of anything or anyone.  Takes care of Sinclair and Gizmo and puts them in their place as needed.

Sinclair:  6-year old, large, 17-pound cat that looks like a Maine Coon.  He can peer over the edge of our counter without much of a stretch.  He resembles a furry version of a baby mountain lion.  He's terrified of anything new and won't hurt my small critters like rats (when we have them).  Gentleman, and hardly ever meows.

Gizmo:  About eight months old now.  All black, highly intelligent, plays fetch, loves food and attention, not afraid of anything except Kitty.  Terrorizes Sinclair.

Now meet Rosco.  Rosco is over ten years old I think, and is staying with us for the week.  He is my brother-in-law's cat.  He usually faces a puppy and a pre-schooler.  He isn't afraid of anything and regularly bites people because he can.  He's very handsome but has liberty of the house - he can jump up on anything he wants.  He holds his own.  Usually.

So here's the rundown on how these interactions have gone.

Rosco meets Gizmo.  Gizmo hisses and runs away.  Rosco lends chase.  Kitty sees this and chases Rosco.  Rosco sees this and runs away.  Kitty lends chase.  Sinclair nowhere in sight.  At the time, I assumed that Sinclair wanted no part of another tomcat.  That was the other night.

Tonight, Rosco meets Gizmo.  Gizmo hisses but holds his ground.  Rosco gets closer.  I expect a cat fight and begin to move into position.  Sinclair stalks up behind Rosco and surprises him.  Rosco hisses at Sinclair.  Sinclair really holds his ground.  Rosco runs upstairs.  Sinclair follows.  I bring him back downstairs.  Gizmo runs upstairs and Rosco forces him to start back down the stairs.  Sinclair goes upstairs.  He traps Rosco.  Rosco backs off, hissing and growling along with Sinclair.  Sinclair then places himself at the top of the stairway and hisses at Gizmo whenever Gizmo tries to get close to the top of the stairs.  Rosco stands around the corner as if he'd like to go back downstairs, but wants no part of Sinclair.

What I've deduced from their activities is that Sinclair has not been terrorized by Gizmo at all, but has been allowing a kitten to be himself.  Whenever he hissed, he was just trying to tell the kitten to cut it out, but he put himself in the position to be played with.  Meanwhile, Kitty won't let Gizmo mess with her, but she will care for him and chase away a perceived threat.  Sinclair will then in turn stand up for his pride (as in cats) and make sure Gizmo is protected by both keeping him downstairs and cornering the foreign threat upstairs.

Talking about pride, you have now idea how much I respect Sinclair right now.

~w

maple sausage

Dale's comments about his breakfast as he heads upstairs:

Maple sausage was edible...
(really?)

...nothing special...
(duh, it's sausage, it's gross)

...not enough maple...
(nothing has enough maple for Dale)

...but it'll make a turd.
(hahahahaha)

~w

Children

I went to a birthday party for a 12-year-old yesterday. May I just say that children are remarkably insightful, and aware of discrepancies in their world early on.

Also...

Children are pure excitement. The high-pitched screams from a group of girls opening gifts brought me to my knees inside… both from ear pain, and a melting heart.

~w

realization

Credit Dale for this one.

The word "wrong" is not always used per definition given it in Merriam-Webster.  I know the version where "wrong" means "incorrect or not true."  I did not realize that the word is often used in two other scenarios:  When someone disagrees with your opinion, and when someone is trying to explain to you that you're stating something in an uncommon manner.

Looking back on things, he's absolutely right, and it explains so much.  Knowing this is bringing a barrage of emotions I can't even fathom right now.  Relief in some ways, for all the times I was told I was wrong when I knew I couldn't be due to the wrongness being something I perceived inside, like what I was feeling or what I preferred and why.  But also, utter astonishment on just how poor my grasp of working English continues to be. I studied the dictionary, I learned how to read and write, and I thought I could learn to communicate visually while pretending to be communicating with sound.  I think I have finally just realised that the spoken word and the written word are two different languages.  I will never be good at the former because I don't have the right equipment to learn it.  There's nothing wrong with me after all, and I'm not technically wrong about my opinions.  I simply don't grasp spoken English very well and probably never will, and therefore, need to be extra careful to clarify intent when I feel miffed.

To make myself feel more accepted, though, or perhaps less so depending on what I found, I did take another gander over to google to look for CAPD symptoms again.  In this case, I felt more reassured that I'm not crazy (well, the jury's still out on that one!) but rather, it's something that is known and therefore technically socially acceptable, even if difficult to live with.

http://www.aitinstitute.org/what_is_capd.htm

Difficulty understanding language.

Difficulty expressing oneself.

I have always felt the latter could only be done via creative outlets - i.e., writing, painting, music (although no one wants to hear me sing, lol).  The first, I always skimmed over because I thought it meant /all/ language - i.e., spoken and written language are one in the same.  If it means either both OR just spoken, however…

Anywho, I suppose I could feel sorry for myself some more but in reality I'm one heck of a smart person to have been able to fool so many people (and myself) into thinking I understood them all these years.  Smart, and very, very deluded.  Oh well, so be it.

I'm so fucked.  I wonder what it's going to be like when I'm old and hard of hearing in addition to plagued with CAPD?  I'm going to be one heck of an annoying (and frustrated) old woman, that's for sure!

~w