Perhaps this is premature, but where's the American Red Cross donation link on Amazon.com? Or the blog donations? Granted, Katrina is not the tsunami that devastated the Pacific Rim, but it's the worst natural disaster to hit the US and it's getting worse as the flood waters rise. More death and disease is sure to follow. It's just a complete horrible mess down there. I can't begin to imagine what all those people are going through and are going to go through.
Can we help ourselves too?
Donate to the American Red Cross
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
A strange find.
I just looked under my keyboard and found a business card from Cantor Fitzgerald, One World Trade Center, NY,NY. I have no idea how it got there.
The card says he was / is a specialist in Greenhouse Gases. That means I probably met him briefly at some conference at Texaco - probably one on sustainable development. I don't remember him but am really glad to see that he's not listed as one of the victims of 9/11. I was contracting at Texaco when it happened - so he either he was out that day for some reason or had left the company. If he was out, what a lucky guy. Cantor got hit so hard by the attacks.
It's just strange to me that I have this little piece of something that's gone and I'm surprised at how many memories it triggers.
The card says he was / is a specialist in Greenhouse Gases. That means I probably met him briefly at some conference at Texaco - probably one on sustainable development. I don't remember him but am really glad to see that he's not listed as one of the victims of 9/11. I was contracting at Texaco when it happened - so he either he was out that day for some reason or had left the company. If he was out, what a lucky guy. Cantor got hit so hard by the attacks.
It's just strange to me that I have this little piece of something that's gone and I'm surprised at how many memories it triggers.
Friday, August 26, 2005
A Sasha Story.
It's been odd around here. No pooch at my feet as I put on my socks and shoes. No black furry blur running to the door in anticipation of the great morning walk, sniff and pee ritual. I figure I walked Sasha close to 80,000 times or so. That's a lot of walking and sniffing. A lot of memories are wrapped up in those walks. A lot of stories are wrapped up too. Here is one of them...
Back in the day - in this case "the day" is an early summer morning about 6 years ago - we lived in Peekskill. Not in the artistic district, but in a bizarre duplex in the historic Depew building at the end of Rt. 6. We had French doors, wood floors, two marble fireplaces and a kitchen and a bathroom that were downstairs and below ground. It was spacious and distinctive but a really odd set up living wise. A big problem was the stairs down to the kitchen and bathroom. It wasn't just a few easy steps, but more like the steps Father Karrass gets tossed down in The Exorcist. They were steep and there were a lot of them. I hated those steps, especially if I ever sprained my ankle or got a heel spur or tore my knee. As for the neighborhood, we had the occasional drug dealer and prostitutes and other suspicious looking folk.
What does that have to do with the story - not too much - I just wanted to paint a picture for you.
Back in the day I also had a raging case of insomnia. Even if I managed to sleep I was sleep walking and even worse - sleep eating. We'd wake up to discover boxes of cookies devoured and all sorts of bizarre concoctions I'd made when, apparently, no snacks were handy. It not unusual to come downstairs to discover some milk in a pot with an egg and a slice of cheese in it. WTF was I trying to make? Thank god I seemed unable to get the stove working or we would have been in real trouble.
I eventually went to my doctor about it in hopes of getting a sleeping pill or other suggestions. He told me I was stressed out (no shit) and sent me on my way empty handed.
So it was early on a summer morning in the hood back in the day and I was in a stupor from a raging Ed Norton Fight Club style of insomnia. Sasha, bless her hyper heart, was up with me so I looked at her and thought we might as well go for a walk. Usually I kept her on a lead because there were cars and kids and the aforementioned suspicious people around, but it was 3AM and no one was around so I took her out off lead.
Right across the parking lot from our building was a hill. The first twenty yards or so were fairly steep and grass covered then came some woods and then a street above us and then above that the house and building of the hit 80's show, "The Facts of Life". The walks were generally relegated to the grassy part of the hill, known to us as "potty hill". Sasha knew where to go and what to do - though when we first got her she had bolted through those same woods and was finally captured by some Lutheran nuns from the convent above us and their Ecuadorian landscapers. But she had sinced claimed us long before and there was no fear of her bolting on this night. So I thought.
We get about half way across the parking lot toward the hill and Sasha bolts across the pavement and right up the grassy hill to the edge of the woods. I had no idea what she was going after or doing. It was surreal, I just watched her as she raced along the edge of the woods, traveling left to right and wearing her home jersey until she just stopped dead in her tracks and did the big "play with me move".
A big-ass white striped tail shot up in front of her. Her new friend was a gigantic skunk.
Oh Fuck. I thought.
"Sasha! Get your ass away from there! Cmon cmon cmon back over here! Get the fuck over here!!" I yelled and miraculously she came back to me over. I hadn't seen him spray her and I still held some hope for the few moments it took her to run back over.
I bent toward and sniffed. eeeeew. Skunky badness. Not a direct hit, but nothing I wanted to live with.
So, we went back into the house and down the steep Exorcist stairs without waking Clarisa. Why bother her?
I toss the pooch in the tub and turn the shower on and just jump right on in with her and start scrubbing away. Anything that was flowery scented got used. It wasn't working though. I locked Sasha in the bathroom and went into the kitchen in search of tomato juice. I'd heard that worked, and was willing to give it a shot. Alas, no V-8, no tomato juice and no tomatoes. Ah, but in the pantry was a cornucopia of spaghetti sauce. We had a few chunky Hearty Italian bottles, Garden N Herbs and an A La Vodka Sauce. This would have to do. I figured it was worth the shot.
I go back into the bathroom with the 3 bottles of chunky sauce and Sasha is still in the tub, blissfully enjoying the water. She'd shook herself though and fur was stuck everywhere. Stinky skunky fur. I climb into the tub and start working the chunky Hearty Italian sauce into her coat and this starts to annoy her. I keep scrubbing and working in spaghetti sauce and she keeps shaking and the fur and the sauce is flying everywhere. First the chunky garden style and then the garden and herbs and the a la vodka.
By the time I was done, the bathroom looked like someone had been blown to bits in there. There was chunky read sauce and clumps of hair everywhere. No matter though, because the pooch was deskunked (mostly) and I'd done what had to be done. I was beat - cleaning up could wait.
Around 5AM I climbed back into bed without telling Clarisa and somehow got to sleep. I figured I'd tell her later and clean up when I got up.
She got up at 8AM. Man was she surprised.
Back in the day - in this case "the day" is an early summer morning about 6 years ago - we lived in Peekskill. Not in the artistic district, but in a bizarre duplex in the historic Depew building at the end of Rt. 6. We had French doors, wood floors, two marble fireplaces and a kitchen and a bathroom that were downstairs and below ground. It was spacious and distinctive but a really odd set up living wise. A big problem was the stairs down to the kitchen and bathroom. It wasn't just a few easy steps, but more like the steps Father Karrass gets tossed down in The Exorcist. They were steep and there were a lot of them. I hated those steps, especially if I ever sprained my ankle or got a heel spur or tore my knee. As for the neighborhood, we had the occasional drug dealer and prostitutes and other suspicious looking folk.
What does that have to do with the story - not too much - I just wanted to paint a picture for you.
Back in the day I also had a raging case of insomnia. Even if I managed to sleep I was sleep walking and even worse - sleep eating. We'd wake up to discover boxes of cookies devoured and all sorts of bizarre concoctions I'd made when, apparently, no snacks were handy. It not unusual to come downstairs to discover some milk in a pot with an egg and a slice of cheese in it. WTF was I trying to make? Thank god I seemed unable to get the stove working or we would have been in real trouble.
I eventually went to my doctor about it in hopes of getting a sleeping pill or other suggestions. He told me I was stressed out (no shit) and sent me on my way empty handed.
So it was early on a summer morning in the hood back in the day and I was in a stupor from a raging Ed Norton Fight Club style of insomnia. Sasha, bless her hyper heart, was up with me so I looked at her and thought we might as well go for a walk. Usually I kept her on a lead because there were cars and kids and the aforementioned suspicious people around, but it was 3AM and no one was around so I took her out off lead.
Right across the parking lot from our building was a hill. The first twenty yards or so were fairly steep and grass covered then came some woods and then a street above us and then above that the house and building of the hit 80's show, "The Facts of Life". The walks were generally relegated to the grassy part of the hill, known to us as "potty hill". Sasha knew where to go and what to do - though when we first got her she had bolted through those same woods and was finally captured by some Lutheran nuns from the convent above us and their Ecuadorian landscapers. But she had sinced claimed us long before and there was no fear of her bolting on this night. So I thought.
We get about half way across the parking lot toward the hill and Sasha bolts across the pavement and right up the grassy hill to the edge of the woods. I had no idea what she was going after or doing. It was surreal, I just watched her as she raced along the edge of the woods, traveling left to right and wearing her home jersey until she just stopped dead in her tracks and did the big "play with me move".
A big-ass white striped tail shot up in front of her. Her new friend was a gigantic skunk.
Oh Fuck. I thought.
"Sasha! Get your ass away from there! Cmon cmon cmon back over here! Get the fuck over here!!" I yelled and miraculously she came back to me over. I hadn't seen him spray her and I still held some hope for the few moments it took her to run back over.
I bent toward and sniffed. eeeeew. Skunky badness. Not a direct hit, but nothing I wanted to live with.
So, we went back into the house and down the steep Exorcist stairs without waking Clarisa. Why bother her?
I toss the pooch in the tub and turn the shower on and just jump right on in with her and start scrubbing away. Anything that was flowery scented got used. It wasn't working though. I locked Sasha in the bathroom and went into the kitchen in search of tomato juice. I'd heard that worked, and was willing to give it a shot. Alas, no V-8, no tomato juice and no tomatoes. Ah, but in the pantry was a cornucopia of spaghetti sauce. We had a few chunky Hearty Italian bottles, Garden N Herbs and an A La Vodka Sauce. This would have to do. I figured it was worth the shot.
I go back into the bathroom with the 3 bottles of chunky sauce and Sasha is still in the tub, blissfully enjoying the water. She'd shook herself though and fur was stuck everywhere. Stinky skunky fur. I climb into the tub and start working the chunky Hearty Italian sauce into her coat and this starts to annoy her. I keep scrubbing and working in spaghetti sauce and she keeps shaking and the fur and the sauce is flying everywhere. First the chunky garden style and then the garden and herbs and the a la vodka.By the time I was done, the bathroom looked like someone had been blown to bits in there. There was chunky read sauce and clumps of hair everywhere. No matter though, because the pooch was deskunked (mostly) and I'd done what had to be done. I was beat - cleaning up could wait.
Around 5AM I climbed back into bed without telling Clarisa and somehow got to sleep. I figured I'd tell her later and clean up when I got up.
She got up at 8AM. Man was she surprised.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Drunken Blogging
Let me state that I have had three very potent Margeritas at this point. Ok. With that said...
My pooch died in my arms around 5:50 tonight. Clarisa and I held Sasha as she died. All I could say as the drugs took hold (so fast) was "I'm sorry" and "I love you" as I cried. First she just laid down and seconds later collapsed onto her side and she was gone. Just like that.
After she collapsed the vet, crying as well , got up and left us alone and I whispered into her ear a Buddhist mantra - "Om Mani Padme Hung" as many times as I could. For about twenty minutes I held her and talked to her after she'd passed. My pooch. My nervous, neurotic, but oh so loving pooch. Sasha, you will be missed, darling. If there is any sort of universal justice or karma you should be in good hands at this point.
Her last day was a good one. I took it off and spent the day with her from start to finish. Car rides, walks, dog parks, runs, more walks and turkey sandwiches and chips. We spent time frolicking in bed and on the couch. More than once, I tried explaining to her again and again what was wrong and what was going to happen and why. Of course, she had no idea, though she was freaked out in the vet's office once they put the catheter in her right leg. She wanted out of the Vet's office at that point.In my heart I hope that Jenn finds her. In my heart I hope that all of a sudden Sasha just comes loping up on Jenn and gives her a bunch of kisses and that they are together until either one of us or both shuffle off this mortal coil.
I know I did the right thing, so why do I feel so guilty? We loved her as much as we could.
Again, I'm a bit speechless. I'll let Victor Hugo speak for me then...
Certain thoughts are prayers.
There are moment when, whatever be the attitude of the body,
the soul is on its knees.
Victor Hugo
Suffice it to say I am on my knees. Again. Here on the same day Jenn left for Oklahoma, never to return.
Monday, August 22, 2005
For Sasha
I knew something was wrong because while I was walking home from the bus stop on 119, Clarisa pulled up and was bawling her eyes out. I figured it might have to do with Sasha, our dog, and it did.I'm a wreck.
She's sick enough that we will put her to sleep tomorrow.
We'd dropped her off at the vet to board her this past weekend and get her checked out - she had a little growth on her eye that had just sprung up. They ran some blood tests and discovered that her kidneys and liver are failing. She also has lymes, despite using Advantix. Ultrasound results show cancer all over the place - her neck for one. So, rather than let her suffer from it, we're letting her go while she's happy.
Sasha's been great. We've had her over 10 years of her 12+ years here and she's been a joy. Sometimes a royal pain in the ass, but a joy overall. She's not a ball fetcher or a trick doer. Though, if you were playing with a ball with someone else, after a bit she'd grab it and go hide it. How DARE a ball get better treatment than her!
When we got her she was insanely submissive - so much so that she would crawl on the floor to you when called and then roll over and whiz straight into the air. With patience and kindness that stopped and she's graduated to just being a nervous dog. A happy, nervous dog that wants to sit on your head and loom the way Snoopy does when he pretends to be a vulture. Nervous, but happy and a fan of humping our big gray cat, Little Guy.
She's been my buddy for a long time and I'm just so sad that tomorrow she's going to be gone. I'm so sad. I really don't know what else to say. Things turn on a dime.
Tonight she's getting boneless pork spare ribs and tomorrow we're going to go the park until it's time.
And to top it all off - today I saw a lady with a small child on the street asking for help. The same lady I saw back on October 12th and had passed by. The same lady I had passed by the day before my sister died.
Today, I passed her again in a rush to get home when it hit me who it was. So I went back around the corner of 39th and 6th and gave her two dollars. I wondered, what, if any, portent was there. Coincidence - probably, but I'm enough of a mystic to think there's much more than we can see here.
I really don't want tomorrow to come...my heart is breaking.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Musings
Earlier this week VH1 was showing a censored version of Showgirls. WTF? How can that sort of thing even be allowed? I mean, really, if you censor Showgirls, what do you have? An impoverished, diluted husk of a film void of any of the licentious and lascivious behavior that in fact made it such a guilty pleasure to watch. In short, you get jack-shit.
Censorship is bad people. Fight it. More boobs, less bombs on the boob tube.
Ok? Ok.
Moving on...
For a little bit I was reading A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin. I say for a little bit because I left it (and my monthly train pass which was playing the part of a bookmark) on the train or on the roof of my car. Considering the trainpass runs me $185 it's a relatively expensive misplacement. I hope whoever found it enjoys the literary stylings of Mark Helprin and free travel on the MTA's Harlem Line for the rest of August.
As for why I lost it - I guess my mind was a bit preoccupied on the way home that day and the reason for that is big enough for it's own post in the near future. Suffice it to say I had bought a turkey sandwich for a homeless guy who looked a bit like Jesus and whose pet ferrets had starved to death / cooked to death in the 110 degree real-feel heat on the street that day. His name was Tim. I'll write about him again.
As for the book...it's reminiscent of Hemingway but Helprin's prose is a bit more mellifluous and Helprin's central character, Allesandro, so far, seems to be a brighter and more evocative character than Hemingway's Lt. Henry.
Instead of getting another copy for now, I wandered back down to the breakroom and picked up another book someone had dropped off. Running with Scissors is a true tale of a kid's fucked up life after his crazy ass mother dumps him off at her eccentric (and that's really a kind euphemism for "crazy fucker") pyschiatrist's house and his relationship with his mother and his new found family. Despite all that, there's enough familiar ground in there for me to be sympathetic, but enough whacked out crazy shit that makes me ever so thankful that I was not him. The day I start examining turds the way a gypsy looks at tea leaves is the day that I really really really better get some medication. If you are confused - read the book. It's a hoot - it's a good story and ultimately about how resilient we can be.
In another post I'll cover The Family 2005 reunion in Virginia Beach. I got to meet family I never met and see others that I had not seen for 30 years or so. A good time was had by all.
Censorship is bad people. Fight it. More boobs, less bombs on the boob tube.
Ok? Ok.
Moving on...
For a little bit I was reading A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin. I say for a little bit because I left it (and my monthly train pass which was playing the part of a bookmark) on the train or on the roof of my car. Considering the trainpass runs me $185 it's a relatively expensive misplacement. I hope whoever found it enjoys the literary stylings of Mark Helprin and free travel on the MTA's Harlem Line for the rest of August.
As for why I lost it - I guess my mind was a bit preoccupied on the way home that day and the reason for that is big enough for it's own post in the near future. Suffice it to say I had bought a turkey sandwich for a homeless guy who looked a bit like Jesus and whose pet ferrets had starved to death / cooked to death in the 110 degree real-feel heat on the street that day. His name was Tim. I'll write about him again.
As for the book...it's reminiscent of Hemingway but Helprin's prose is a bit more mellifluous and Helprin's central character, Allesandro, so far, seems to be a brighter and more evocative character than Hemingway's Lt. Henry.
Instead of getting another copy for now, I wandered back down to the breakroom and picked up another book someone had dropped off. Running with Scissors is a true tale of a kid's fucked up life after his crazy ass mother dumps him off at her eccentric (and that's really a kind euphemism for "crazy fucker") pyschiatrist's house and his relationship with his mother and his new found family. Despite all that, there's enough familiar ground in there for me to be sympathetic, but enough whacked out crazy shit that makes me ever so thankful that I was not him. The day I start examining turds the way a gypsy looks at tea leaves is the day that I really really really better get some medication. If you are confused - read the book. It's a hoot - it's a good story and ultimately about how resilient we can be.
In another post I'll cover The Family 2005 reunion in Virginia Beach. I got to meet family I never met and see others that I had not seen for 30 years or so. A good time was had by all.
Friday, August 12, 2005
It's Friday and its slooow at work.
It's been a while between posts blah blah. There is no procrastination. Just the absence of doing stuff.
Really though, I can't tell you how many times I sat down to post something here and immediately felt like I was getting bonked in the head with a big heavy thing. Of course, trying to post at 12:20AM is not probably the ideal time to put any thoughts down.
The protracted battle to fix the house continues. The contractors have been here all week and working late. It's kind of odd trying to sit and watch a DVD with shirtless sweaty Polish men working all around you. But that's life these days. If you want to watch a DVD, you have to do amidst the symphomic clamor of drills, hammers and saws interspersed conversations in Polish that I'm sure go something like:
With luck, the guys will finish up today and we'll be ready for the counter-top guy to install our Maui colored Corian countertop in a few weeks. Then a week after that, the tile guy is going to come back and finish up the backsplash.
At that point, I think we will take three deep breaths, gaze at the rennovations and enjoy them for about 10 seconds and then call Century 21. Atlanta seems to have an abundance of tech jobs and the housing costs are still -- relative to Westchester Cty, NY -- cheap. Who knows really where we will wind up, but I can't imagine staying there too much longer. Of course, if I could work from home two days a week, we could buy one of those McMansions in the Poconos that you see advertised all the time in the Daily News and still put money in the bank. The future is wide open.
Most of last weekend was spent in total frustration as I tried and tried and tried again to successfully install a brand new, kick-ass ATI X800 XL AGP card. After installing a new Antec TruePower 430 psu for the X800 to feed off of, I tried to install the new vid card. Tried. And Tried. And Tried.
To say the least the litany of removing the old ATI software, installing the card, installing the Catalyst Software and Drivers was repeated again and again. All I ever got was screen defects and XP freezes and my monitor going into power-save mode interspersed with the occasional blue screen of death. I tried to upgrade my BIOS, but for whatever reason, the damn thing just won't upgrade. The most frustrating part of all this, is that the damn card actually started to work all of a sudden and continued to work for about 2 hours. Half Life 2 and Battlefield 2 never looked so good or played so well. I was amazed at all the new details, espcially in BF2 where the rotor wash from a helo will bend and shake tree limbs and leaves. Even more amazing was the way the jets and helo's handled in singleplayer mode - smooth and fast. What a difference a new video card can make. I was sooo happy. I thought about all the nice new kill records I would post and how my BF2 stats would climb.
Then the card crashed again and never came back. Tell you what - I really wanted to do a John Lydon on my PC. I wanted to hack it to pieces and whiz on it and give it the finger. But, I managed to retain my self control and put my old 128MB ATI Radeon back in it works fine. But, BF2 won't load now. So now I need to reinstall that. Grrr.
Basically, I know the problem lies with my older mobo and its frozen BIOS. I just need a new motherboard and chipset and to reinstall XP. But then I need to get a mobo that fits my Gateway case, which is going to be problematic. So, I already have a new vid card, a new power supply and a 1GB worth of PC3200 RAM. Throw in a new case and a new 478 pin motherboard with a 3.6 processor and I'm on my way to building a new PC. I could add new drives as I go and eventually pop in a RAID controller and upgrade the RAM. Decisions Decisions.
On a different note....
The guitar playing is coming along pretty well but the licks and rythyms of Robert Johnson continue to elude me. So, for the most part I stick with a master the blues book and CD and another book and CD combo that covers scales over chords. That stuff I am starting to get. Like, I can see how the major scale breaks down into the blues, minor scales and pentatonic. I'm even getting fairly comfortable playing, say a primary form of a scale up the neck, and coming back down with the secondary form. Things are starting to click there. Plus the PODXT is just a blast to work with. I'm always one nob turn away from the clean bluesy tones of a Black Lux to crazy metal tones. Freedom baby.
In a few hours I'm flying with my cousin, Jody, to Newport News for a family reunion with our Virgina Beach folks, the Gradels and Autens. The only downer is that Clarisa is not going. She's staying here and is with her cousins and uncle who arrived here today. The original plan was for all of us to go see Wicked and tour around the city. Then this reunion came up and with it a scheduling conflict. We talked about it and I decided to go to VA. It should be a blast though. The last time I saw these people, I was 5. That's an awful lot of catching up.
Really though, I can't tell you how many times I sat down to post something here and immediately felt like I was getting bonked in the head with a big heavy thing. Of course, trying to post at 12:20AM is not probably the ideal time to put any thoughts down.
The protracted battle to fix the house continues. The contractors have been here all week and working late. It's kind of odd trying to sit and watch a DVD with shirtless sweaty Polish men working all around you. But that's life these days. If you want to watch a DVD, you have to do amidst the symphomic clamor of drills, hammers and saws interspersed conversations in Polish that I'm sure go something like:
"Peter, this wall isn't level."
"No surprise there Michael. This place was
built by retards. The ceiling isn't level either."
"It looks like an interesting part of their movie. I will now turn this drill on."
With luck, the guys will finish up today and we'll be ready for the counter-top guy to install our Maui colored Corian countertop in a few weeks. Then a week after that, the tile guy is going to come back and finish up the backsplash.
At that point, I think we will take three deep breaths, gaze at the rennovations and enjoy them for about 10 seconds and then call Century 21. Atlanta seems to have an abundance of tech jobs and the housing costs are still -- relative to Westchester Cty, NY -- cheap. Who knows really where we will wind up, but I can't imagine staying there too much longer. Of course, if I could work from home two days a week, we could buy one of those McMansions in the Poconos that you see advertised all the time in the Daily News and still put money in the bank. The future is wide open.
Most of last weekend was spent in total frustration as I tried and tried and tried again to successfully install a brand new, kick-ass ATI X800 XL AGP card. After installing a new Antec TruePower 430 psu for the X800 to feed off of, I tried to install the new vid card. Tried. And Tried. And Tried.
To say the least the litany of removing the old ATI software, installing the card, installing the Catalyst Software and Drivers was repeated again and again. All I ever got was screen defects and XP freezes and my monitor going into power-save mode interspersed with the occasional blue screen of death. I tried to upgrade my BIOS, but for whatever reason, the damn thing just won't upgrade. The most frustrating part of all this, is that the damn card actually started to work all of a sudden and continued to work for about 2 hours. Half Life 2 and Battlefield 2 never looked so good or played so well. I was amazed at all the new details, espcially in BF2 where the rotor wash from a helo will bend and shake tree limbs and leaves. Even more amazing was the way the jets and helo's handled in singleplayer mode - smooth and fast. What a difference a new video card can make. I was sooo happy. I thought about all the nice new kill records I would post and how my BF2 stats would climb.
Then the card crashed again and never came back. Tell you what - I really wanted to do a John Lydon on my PC. I wanted to hack it to pieces and whiz on it and give it the finger. But, I managed to retain my self control and put my old 128MB ATI Radeon back in it works fine. But, BF2 won't load now. So now I need to reinstall that. Grrr.
Basically, I know the problem lies with my older mobo and its frozen BIOS. I just need a new motherboard and chipset and to reinstall XP. But then I need to get a mobo that fits my Gateway case, which is going to be problematic. So, I already have a new vid card, a new power supply and a 1GB worth of PC3200 RAM. Throw in a new case and a new 478 pin motherboard with a 3.6 processor and I'm on my way to building a new PC. I could add new drives as I go and eventually pop in a RAID controller and upgrade the RAM. Decisions Decisions.
On a different note....
The guitar playing is coming along pretty well but the licks and rythyms of Robert Johnson continue to elude me. So, for the most part I stick with a master the blues book and CD and another book and CD combo that covers scales over chords. That stuff I am starting to get. Like, I can see how the major scale breaks down into the blues, minor scales and pentatonic. I'm even getting fairly comfortable playing, say a primary form of a scale up the neck, and coming back down with the secondary form. Things are starting to click there. Plus the PODXT is just a blast to work with. I'm always one nob turn away from the clean bluesy tones of a Black Lux to crazy metal tones. Freedom baby.
In a few hours I'm flying with my cousin, Jody, to Newport News for a family reunion with our Virgina Beach folks, the Gradels and Autens. The only downer is that Clarisa is not going. She's staying here and is with her cousins and uncle who arrived here today. The original plan was for all of us to go see Wicked and tour around the city. Then this reunion came up and with it a scheduling conflict. We talked about it and I decided to go to VA. It should be a blast though. The last time I saw these people, I was 5. That's an awful lot of catching up.
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