![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove
Tuesday, 29 August 2006 05:53 pmSpring in Cape Town is this sort of widely idiosyncratic vernal choir. Some of the oaks are shouting "GREEN!" quite loudly now, as opposed to their slower brethren, who state "Green!" quietly, but with conviction. A few die-hards are diffidently suggesting "green!" in a pale mist or scum, not unlike the top of the Evil Landlord's giant mutant jar of olives. Then there's always the small, mad, spindly tree by our front gate, which gives an excellent impression of being dead until about two months after everything else has broken into choral foliage, at which point it'll yawn, stretch and remark "Green..." in a sort of dark, lazy baritone.
I have not yet poisoned any pigeons or done in any squirrels, but given the frustrations of the week, it's been close.
I propose to draw a veil over the network of incompatibilities, misunderstandings, misleading documentation, trips to the computer shop and cuss words which have finally, a week later, resulted in me being able to type this on my very own computer, albeit one which still refuses to recognise a mouse of any sort. Cultural highlight: after an involved series of discussions about DDR RAM speed* with the computer shop, I innocently let fall the name of my Evil Landlord, who has been prodding various non-functional computer bits on my behalf, and who bought a new system at the same shop a couple of months ago. The nice oriental gentleman behind the counter immediately perked up and demanded whether the computer under discussion, which they'd just eventually upgraded and for which I had paid, belonged to the EL. Subtext: women can't own computers, really. They just hold them for their natural overlords.
In other news, this weekend I learned the arcane construction techniques of tiramisu. I was, of course, unable to contemplate the actual consumption of more than a bread roll and a small piece of chicken, but I'm told the concoction passed muster. I am still in that tragic and suicidal state where the contemplation of actual chocolate, or anything else actually fun to eat, makes me feel queasy. Next on my list of system upgrades: my body. (Except the arms, which are getting nicely muscular from lugging computers. It would be a pity to waste all that exercise).
* does RAM have speed? 200 vs 333? or is that power, or work, or energy, or something?
I have not yet poisoned any pigeons or done in any squirrels, but given the frustrations of the week, it's been close.
I propose to draw a veil over the network of incompatibilities, misunderstandings, misleading documentation, trips to the computer shop and cuss words which have finally, a week later, resulted in me being able to type this on my very own computer, albeit one which still refuses to recognise a mouse of any sort. Cultural highlight: after an involved series of discussions about DDR RAM speed* with the computer shop, I innocently let fall the name of my Evil Landlord, who has been prodding various non-functional computer bits on my behalf, and who bought a new system at the same shop a couple of months ago. The nice oriental gentleman behind the counter immediately perked up and demanded whether the computer under discussion, which they'd just eventually upgraded and for which I had paid, belonged to the EL. Subtext: women can't own computers, really. They just hold them for their natural overlords.
In other news, this weekend I learned the arcane construction techniques of tiramisu. I was, of course, unable to contemplate the actual consumption of more than a bread roll and a small piece of chicken, but I'm told the concoction passed muster. I am still in that tragic and suicidal state where the contemplation of actual chocolate, or anything else actually fun to eat, makes me feel queasy. Next on my list of system upgrades: my body. (Except the arms, which are getting nicely muscular from lugging computers. It would be a pity to waste all that exercise).
* does RAM have speed? 200 vs 333? or is that power, or work, or energy, or something?
