So, it's 11th September. Again.
You know. That date which displays as 11/9 everywhere in the world, except the US. So it's known globally as 9/11 now. Kinda like the fourth of July, which is known everywhere else as July the Fourth.
No one said the system made sense.
Anyway: tragedies.
With the fifth anniversary of JengaDay following the first anniversary of Get the Hell outta New Orleans Day by a couple weeks, the state of fragility in the world has got me thinking a bit. Probably no more than usual; but there are limits.
With forty thousand years of recorded history to look through, it bugs me a bit that all the major tragedies are from the twenty-first century. Sure, there's Pearl Harbour back in the twentieth; but all anyone considers a tragedy these days is that film with Ben Affleck. Which, of course, was released this millennium.
A year after the Japs attacked, no one cared. Five years after. Fifty. Granted, the whole of the US were busy being excited to have just entered a war they'd been ignoring for five years. But, apart from that excuse, no one really gave a damn.
The world has changed. And not for the better. Einstein died without finishing what would evolve into unified string theory, and the world kinda pouted for a couple minutes; Earnhardt died without finishing driving around in a circle, and the planet went batshit. Nevar furgit, Y'all. Pie?
Yeah: I just compared Earnhardt to Einstein. Sucks, huh.
And that's the sort of thing getting me to think that, just maybe, the human race is becoming too fragile to survive.
This, incidentally, is not the sort of information you want falling into the hands of someone named Gremlin.
Of course, all I care about today is the scheduled release of the Nintendo DSBlack. Which, unless my phone has rung while I've been listening to the PSP, hasn't yet been confirmed. That potentially could be tragic¹.
Amusingly enough, I'm sitting out front of Safeway [there's a Starbucks in it, since the one across the street and the one in the other supermarket next to the one across the street are way too few and far apart to be useful], listening to the PSP and writing this on the palmtop. Just to make the world make sense, I'm listening to a GooGooDolls song which is now the same age as the HP660LX.
Really funny is that the two computers are about the same size. In fact: I'll show you....

[click]

I find stuff like that funny. Not to the extent that I'd sit here cackling about it with a palmtop, PSP, latte, and cigarette. But nearly. Whee.
The sad thing is that the mobilephone was what got that shot. Otherwise I'd have included it in the frame. Last time I bought a palmtop [the HP320LX, in 1995], I had a Motorola Meteor the size of the PSP. When it was folded closed.
In any case, the 660 seems to be working. At least for this. Which is approximately why I'd wanted it, even back in 1998.
Just after figuring out that the Amiga was about the only computer on the planet with the ability to display gremlin.net at its original 1280*1024 aspect in 1997, I switched over to the 320 to write most of it. The advantage was that I could wander around with this tiny computer and write things out whenever I liked: this is an old RISC machine, which simply turns on without any startup shit. Walking, in a car, at a restaurant [though I avoid those nonsmoking suckfests these days; I could go without smoking, but then I'd rather just take a smokefree flight to Paris for real food], or wherever. In front of Safeway, say. Amazing that the best technological advancement of the twenty-first century actually stopped being made in 1998. Tragic, too.
Also tragic is that I got the thing at eBay.com. Partly because, if deities existed, I wouldn't have had to; also because people are full of shit. To date. The listing was a tad fraudulent, so far. I'm waiting to hear back from the alleged criminal on a couple things; if my suspicions prove correct about him, you'll naturally hear all about it². I gots screenshots and stuff.
....
Sorry. Hit Ziggy Stardust and stopped thinking for a minute.
So. What else is new.
The rumours of Deophagy's death were an exaggeration. Kinda. It's pretty well worked out again. Yeah: Denny told everyone to stop talking to me; but, of course, the mere fact that people have been telling me that he's been telling everyone to stop talking to me suggests that no one really cares what he's telling them. I hang with anarchists.
In actual fact, we're literally powerless, XCel having expected money for electricity or something; and, apart from the singer and me, no one seems to be sure that being in the band makes it worth his time. Also tragic, since our guitarist is actually good. Not quite Satch, maybe; but close enough to Vai. Works for me. Presuming he actually works for the band.
That ain't working; that's the way you do it: money for nothing and your chicks for free.
Sorry again. Opportune time for the PSP to hit Dire Straits.
In other news, I locked down the final character in Deadache last night. So that's all set to go, except for the part where nothing's really ready on my end. Maybe I'll compile everyone into a sort of radiodrama thing to see how it works soundwise. Something to do, anyway. At least writing out the dialogue is almost shamefully easy. I'm almost concerned that it must suck; but, so far, I'm the only one who thinks so. So, maybe it's about time to playtest it out as the director [that's me!] intended, and see whether that gets anyone to hate it too.
I grade hard. Especially my own stuff. I'm like a perfectionist with low expectations, or something.
And I find it kinda funny; I find it kinda sad: the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
Tears for Fears. I'm eclectic.
Hunter's pushing me into one of my oldest threats now. Especially with all this shit from Denny about avoiding me. Or whatever he's on about. Mostly, it's starting to bug Hunter that she's been living with me since 2000, and still has no idea who I am or what I was. So, she's got me writing it down, at last. So also, slackerhood.com is no longer an empty directory; now, it's an UnderCon warning. But, the novel's underway. Not precisely an autobiography; more of a hunch I've got about what I call slackerhood. Incidentally, the story might be too long to fit into a real book, so, in either case, it'll be online for people to read. I'm okay with only getting paid for fiction; it's a scientist thing.
Anyway: I got reminded of that because, when I first forwarded my hypothesis in 1990, Denny mentioned that writing a book about all that was probably a mistake, since a lot of people would take it personally. Probably, he was right. But, again: no one listens to Denny. And I'm not gonna be the first to start.
We're green. The book's underway. Ten thousand words long, so far. And, of course, I've got a palmtop again. Things should move along quickly.
Unless I'm wasting time writing What's News. So: more later....

<sup>1. Bad news. The DSBlack ships today; it'll be in tomorrow. Tragic.
2. Good news. The guy sending less than he'd claimed to have for the palmtop got back to me, apologising for neglecting to send everything he didn't send; it's reportedly 'in the mail' now. Less tragic. So far.</sup>

Forgot to add tags for this stupid entry.