I think I’m loosing control, assuming that I ever had any. The Systems, Medical and Utility in particular, have pumped Andrea Lindsay full of ideas. She’s left the rest of us to work on the farm. Didn’t ask, just went. Not that it’s a bad idea; not that I wouldn’t have said yes–it would have shown respect to have been asked.
As we speak, the Systems are working on Dakota Whitefeather’s head. If she walks in and says she’s going somewhere to set up a hospital, and the rest of us should have a nice life, I may not be kind.
Oh, by the way, Çêt Tâcher said something that started the wheels turning. He suggested there was no place on this planet from which we, as a group, could not spy on Roy Condon. Spy on the good captain? Now there’s a devious thought worthy of an Andorrian trader. But then, we’re not all here, are we.
Tags: Omorti, Terry
MySpace is, by and large, a young person’s playground. The music rocks, the language is often blue, and there is no one over the age of 25 in any of the ad’s. My granddaughter has a page–loud, busy, well-done for the venue. Into that environment I wander only slightly lost. I have, so far, 5 friends. No celebrities, no one with designs on my body, only family. Having a house full of small children once again has taught me that I can make a quiet place for myself in the noisiest of young places. So here I am, looking for a quiet spot on MySpace. Pray for me.
Can someone explain handbags to me? My wife and I stopped at a yard sale today (remember, we’re Scottish). I bought her a plain but well-made leather handbag for $2.00. It turned out to have been made by Coach. My wife thinks I’m a hero, by granddaughter is tinged with envy, and I’m clueless. It was a used purse; it took me an hour with saddle soap to clean it up. My wife has others, my granddaughter has lots of others–why is this one special? I checked; one can spend over $1000.00 for a Coach handbag. Clearly not this one, but someone; Coach remains firmly in business. The value on this bag is nowhere near that, but I apparently did well. I suppose if I had found a set of TaylorMade golf clubs for $2.00 I could relate. The trials of manhood.
Next week will mark 50 years with my high school sweetheart. We are going to disappear for a few days to the Hotel Telluride.
I won’t be answering e-mails, or phone calls, or anything other than whispers in my ear.
I got my main computer back from the exorcist. My next step was to announce to Google that I existed. They assure me that they would eventually find me, but patience was never my long suit. So I started in. The instructions are written for someone that doesn’t really need instructions. However, after 30 or 40 tries, they tell me that they are satisfied that I, in fact, own the site that bears my name, and that they are happy with my site map. Except that a common search on my name leads to a doctor, a PA, a JR. (I’m not), and this blog. Mind you, if you navigated here to read the blog, a blessing on both you and search engines in general, but it was the web site that I wanted to push. Oh well, let’s practice (sigh) patience, and see what developes.
In the course of creating davidleeshort.com I dug up a landmine. No one can tell me where or how, but someone (yes, I know who–sort of–it doesn’t matter) loaded a malicious proxy on my computer. I first noticed it because the Internet light on my modem flashed rapidly and continuously anytime the computer was on–even if I wasn’t on the net. Then I got a nastygram from my ISP suggesting that they would cut my water off if I didn’t fix it…now. Well, a handy little open-source program called WireShark showed me the problem; someone was running a chat room through my computer. Ten to twelve messages every second. The machine has been in the shop for three days while they try various exorcisms.
I’m a big believer in the maxim that mankind is basically good. It shows in my life style, and in my fiction. This episode is testing that belief sorely.
I put up a few things on which I’m working. My hope is to run a sort of pseudo-wiki; one can make suggestions, but not actually rewrite what is already there. I clearly didn’t think this through far enough to consider how to handle larger works. The short stories are easy, but Pastime is more than 100,000 words and only exists on paper at the moment. (I wrote it on an Apple II) Any Geek with more hosting experience than I (that would be nearly all of them) is free to suggest how I might do this.