My new Droid arrived yesterday afternoon, and it was literally just the phone itself. There was no charger, memory card, battery, or even a back to hold the battery in place. Apparently I’m supposed to strip the original phone, like I’m running a chop-shop, and use all those parts?
Once I activated the new phone, and plugged in my gmail username/password, my contacts were imported automatically. And I went to the Droid Market, pulled up the list of previously-downloaded apps, and grabbed the ones I wanted. The two that had cost me money were free this time ’round.
So, I’m back in business. But… the important calls I’m waiting for still haven’t come in. Apparently it doesn’t matter which phone I’m using, as far as that goes. <Sigh>
The younger Secret told me he knows someone, a classmate of his, who uses internet/texting lingo in real life. For instance, he might say, “OMG, I can’t believe you just said that!” Literally saying the letters O, M, and G.
He is also reportedly very fond of the phrase “epic fail.” And I hate to say this about an eleven year old, but wotta douche.
My brother is in the process of scanning hundreds of old slides that my grandfather took during the ’60s and ’70s, and preserving the photos digitally. Some of them are pretty mind-blowing, and I’ll undoubtedly share a few with you in the near future.
But while looking at the pictures, I’m reminded of a dream I’ve been harboring for several years.
My maternal grandparents lived across the street from us when I was a kid, in a house they had build in the mid-1950s. They lived there until their deaths, and only one other person has called it home, so far. The one-legged woman who bought it from my mother and aunt…
And you might (or might not) remember me ranting about it, but the woman nearly burned it to the ground. She had lighted candles on her end-table, was changing her bedding, and tossed dirty sheets onto a couch — and across one of the candles.
There was extensive damage, and for a few days we didn’t know if the place could be saved. We thought they were going to have to bulldoze it, which made me sad. But, thankfully, they were able to do reconstructive surgery, and the house is still standing.
During my original post about all this, I wrote something along the lines of “why does a one-legged woman need to burn candles, anyway?!” And I stand by that statement.
But back to my dream… I’d love to someday buy that place, and turn it into a writing cabin/Dunbar getaway. I’d have all the carpet removed, the hardwood floors repaired, and all manner of electronics installed. It’s a great little house… or at least it used to be.
I like the idea of the outside looking like it always has, but the inside completely high-tech and computered-up. Maybe someday…
Have you ever been in a place like that? A building that appeared fairly nondescript on the outside, but unbelievable on the inside? I have.
When I worked my previous job, at a DVD manufacturing plant the size of a town (indeed, it has its own dedicated zip code), I was taken to a building in nearby Olyphant. It’s where the graphic artists worked, the folks who designed the menu pages on DVDs, and all that jazz.
The building was beside some railroad tracks, and looked like a body shop or something. I was confused. It looked kinda dumpy, and warehouse-like. Fancy-pants artists work here??
And then we walked inside, and I was floored. It was like the freaking Taj Mahal in there. I’m serious, it was as fancy as any Manhattan office building I’ve seen in real life, or on TV. Dark wood floors… expensive modern furniture… framed art on the walls… high-dollar rugs everywhere…
It was amazing. On the outside it looked like a place you might take your car to have its windshield replaced. And completely high-end on the inside.
I feel like a broken record, but this weather is ruining my life. I hate it, so very deeply. I’m gonna call it a day now, and go horizontal near one of the Soviet humboxes.
Have a great weekend, boys and girls.
I’ll be back on Monday.
Now playing in the bunker
Follow the Surf Report at Twitter!
On Friday, NPR interviewed the author of the “I write like” website. He sounded as though he had a Russian accent. And he did. his name is Dmitry Chestnykh. He admitted his data base was quite limited at this point, but that he intended to expand it. So, at this point, his algorhythms probably limit his results to a very small number of authors. You can read the transcript of the piece, or listen to the story here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=128572009
Ur, sorry Chuck! I always enjoy your writing, by the way.
I write like Dale Brown. I think I’ve written one too many technical papers lately.
Chuck, that last comment made me laugh out loud. It reminded me of a former bandmate who used to say, ” why you gotta harsh my gig, man?”
The I Write Like thing was cool. I put in some snippetts of some things I have going and things I’ve written…
My stories are varied and here’s what they came up with…Frank L. Baum
James Joyce
Raymond Chandler (2)
James Fenimore Cooper
Ursula K. Le Guin (?)
Stephen King…not a creepy story either
David Foster Wallace
I’ve got more I might run through. Even different snippets of the same piece to see what comes up. Thanks for that link Gretchen. Fun stuff!
Algorithms have never been my friend. The one they used for career aptitude tests back in the 80s said I would make a good bus driver. Not archeologist-adventurer, not skydiving-puppeteer, not world famous penguin juggler. Nope, bus driver. And apparently now a bus driver with an affinity for the macabre but a clumsy means of expressing it. Great, I can be the person who mows down a crowd of retards with a short bus and then writes about it, poorly but graphically, on someone else’s not-blog. FUCK! See what I mean? Algorithms are EVIL.
I forgot….Frank L Baum too!
Oh, the dude who came up with that site is a Ruskie? I shoulda known the Reds were behind this.
hey g gfy go reds!
F the privates and the rapists.
Gretchen, school bus driver? My Uncle was a school bus driver after he retired and I tell ya, when I go I want to die just like he did… in his sleep. Not all yelling and screaming like his passengers.
Gretchen, you’re killin’ me! Thanks for the late night laugh!
I just pasted in Gretchen’s last comment. Guess who? Cory Doctorow!
Ed: Oh thank God!! Now if I just knew who he was.
Hot Fuzz: LOL!
Gretchen, he’s a sci-fi writer and one of the people who run boingboing, a very popular blog. I pasted in Jeff’s entry above, and he also writes (supposedly) like Cory Doctorow.
The more I looked at the I Write Like and put in my different stuff, that thing is merely classifing the type of story it is and doesn’t mean you use words and phrases and a voice like the writers mentioed.. One of my stories is set in the 1890s, one is a detective type, one is smart assery and one makes reference to a ‘supposed wizard’ . You can see the type of story is what this thing is doing. Not word choice…etc. Hence it kicked out the writers “I Write Like” by the type of story I wrote.
Here’s a run down:
Mr Whittson….Frank L Baum (this is a scene in Scalabo and Jumpback)
4th Trumpet…James Joyce
A.J.’s Story. …..Raymond Chandler
Scalabo and Jumpback…..Fenimore Cooper
“My Dearest Elaine”…Stephen King
A scene in the A.J. stroy kicked up Ursula Ke LeGuin
“The Passing of Gas” report ….David Foster Wallace.
So… over the years, long years…I’d hear sombody say, “That’s a bunch of BS”…they were talking in text 40 years before texting was invented.
And who could leave out DILLIGAF? That’s been around a while too!
SNAFU I think was started during the early NASA days.
DILLIGAF? Never heard of it, how about a little help?
I have a neighbor who thinks texting is like going back to using a telegraph machine.
@WB
SNAFU dates back to WWII. Probably started with the Army.
the new free credit score bands suck balls.
I’ve always been partial to TARFU.
It looks like I robbed a vending machine last night.
Never mind, google to the rescue.
And thanks Chuck.
i typed this with my toes
Here’s some news you can use. I heard on the radio about this girl they just arrested in Las Vegas. They have something called “glory holes” where a guy walks into a little room and sticks his prick in a hole. And there’s a girl in the little room next to him and she does her thing with it. It’s weird on many levels. First, they have to find a girl who enjoys sucking random dicks all day. And if you’re the guy you have to wonder what she looks like. I mean, what if there’s a dude in there pretending to be a girl? Good God.
So anyway, this particular girl liked to carry a razor blade in with her and when a penis came through the wall she’d grab a hold of it and start slicing it up. Then she’d run off while the guy was writhing in pain on the floor of his little pervert room. She got three before they caught her. The second and third guys must have been really hard up – or nuts. “Let’s see, I’m gonna stick my dick in this hole. Maybe the person on the other side is a woman, and not some dude. And maybe she won’t split my dick down the middle with a razor blade. Oh well, it’s worth a shot.” Crazy.
Dear God.
On it’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia Danny Devito says in one episode “If I was looking for safe I wouldn’t be sticking my dick through a wall.”.