So I’m trying to save a file to my hard drive. An alternate version of an application entry page, so I call it index2.shtml. It tells me that already exists. I don’t remember creating such, but I try index3.shtml. Already exists. Then index4.shtml - same thing. I try index29.shtml and it claims that it exists. So just for my own amusement I try calling it blasphemouspunksatemyprayerrug.shtml. Guess what? Already exists. My computer is losing credibility.
I love useful, informative error messages that guide one through the use of an application. This is not one of them:
NOTIFYWN_OTEX_LLDS_082803: cidaemon.exe - Application Error
The Instruction at "0x7c34240d' referenced memory at '0x00000000". The memory could not be "written".This came up with no indication of what application or component it had to do with, and had to be clicked twice before I could do anything else. About as helpful as forcing the user to print out a full stack trace and eat it with mustard. Aargh.
I do like the quotation marks around “written,” though. This is perhaps a new word for the user, or simply a bit of opaque sarcasm on the part of a deranged OS coder: “I’m obviously talking about initializing an array of pointers to pointers in an electronic storage system, but I shall dumb it down for the idiot sheep who will use my masterpiece.”
As you may have inferred by now, today is my day of 31 flavors of computer trouble. And Fudge Brownie is NOT one of them.
I wore a t-shirt today with an odd illustration of mine affixed as a thick, impermeable iron-on. This meant that a large rectangle in the middle of my torso felt (and smelled) like it was wearing a rubber suit. Tiny colonies of flesh-eating fungal tendrils, with tiny eyes and teeth, sprouted over my sternum. A localized thunderstorm made my navel crackle with lightning. And yet I still wear the shirt, so enamored am I of the vaguely creepy little dudes I drew. Oh vanity, oh pride…
There is a man in my office whose cubicle I must pass on the way to the lavatory. Every time I pass he is staring at his computer screen, wide-eyed, slack-jawed shock on his face. One hand is typically held palm up in a gesture that seems to convey both disbelief and supplication, and the other planted on the arm of his chair, giving the impression that he is ready to shoot out of his chair at any moment and run screaming for the emergency exit.
I wonder what he has realized that I have not…
This bunny is straitjacketed not out of cruelty, but because she is a danger to herself and others. There was an incident with some otters and a pitchfork, followed by a 5150. You know how it goes.
I’m not too alarmed by the announcement of restructuring plans by my corporate masters yesterday. It’s not clear whether my group is intended to be phased out by our new CEO, but I’m 93% sure it would not prove to be possible, and 98.7% sure that even if deemed feasible it would take from six to nine months to accomplish. And soon I’ll banish the li’l knot of stress in my gut.
My daughters aren’t always satisfied with my toy use skills, but I like to think I coax the best from any toy.
My six-year-old thinks that Mr. Toast is everywhere. I wonder what makes her think that, aside from the two plush toys in her bin and Mommy’s necklace and…
![Bamboo bicycles, from hand-crafted, expensive coolness to sustainable, cost-effective, African goodness, make me happy and snappy. See also this cool picture and this frame, if you like. [image above copyright Calfee Design]](http://27.media.tumblr.com/Hwlxcfqk7qtcbjvdp1Zj9msJo1_500.jpg)
Bamboo bicycles, from hand-crafted, expensive coolness to sustainable, cost-effective, African goodness, make me happy and snappy. See also this cool picture and this frame, if you like. [image above copyright Calfee Design]
