Paralyzed By The Process

Do you think an author, say a writer, thinks it out and then basically knows more or less where he is going with the story he is writing?

Or do you think he is getting to know the characters and thinking of them as he is writing, not knowing where he is going, and then sees where his loose thoughts take him. It gets cleaned up later to make a story. Because I think thats more like it. But I think also a lot of people out there live as if they know the story or have an idea. Sometimes I say “I can't be accountable for the shit that comes out of my mouth” and it makes the person laugh, sure, but part of that really resonates with me. I never know where I am going. I am completely unable to basically “plan” certain parts of my life that I think not only do other people have more control over themselves, but I feel I am really lacking, like I SHOULD be able to grab hold of something.

Ever since a kid I've felt this way and I go from one hypothesis to the next during my phases of life and discovery. For a long time I attributed it to being an only child and I still basically do, but maybe its more than that. By brain has all of this knowledge and there is this certain responsibility that society has engrained in us that the knowledge is what you need ...to succeed.

But that doesn’t work for me. I KNOW--yet I cant bring myself to take certain steps.

Charlie wants to get from point A to point B. Through years of education, I know a general guideline for that. Charlie needs to do x, then x, then x... he should arrive at B.

So a friend needs advice, and I tell him, “Oh yeah, thats like fucking
Charlie. Basically, you gotta do x, then x, then x.” And I am all self satisfied. Look what a big help I was!

Yet when it comes down to me I don’t do the x's. I know what they are. It's like ...I guess I am just not to the point in my life that point B is so important it warrants the x's. I will fucking change my attitude on B (a form of regression I think) to avoid the x's.

Other times I find myself in very responsible situations and I ask myself “How did I get here??” as if I had nothing to do with it. Somehow through all the shit (other alphabet letters like W or A) that I have been focusing on, I've also managed to somehow add enough of the x's that I've gotten somewhere.

And I look around, like, “Shit! What do I do now?!” I have arrived at this point...and it never feels satisfying. Like it's not this “I-have-arrived” feeling; the “Yes! Score! I have reached by goal, point B!”

Fuck no! It's like, there are always more points looming on the horizon. And I feel like so many of them are decided by other forces than myself.

But I didn’t decide this. I didn’t chose to be this. I just am.

I think therefore I am. . .Where the fuck am I going with this?

I think I had some vague point* (agh, fucking word!) at the beginning of this. Something about how I feel a certain amount of non control for my aimlessness and that in itself is a weakness.

I was brushing my teeth and I directed myself to go into the computer room and type. Something will come out. It's been too long since you’ve expressed yourself, Rayna.

And I think my hypothesis whas that other folks have (a purpose, a point)...well, let me give an example.

An event happens that is worthy within itself, or sets into actions other events that bring up thoughts and somewhere along that journey a person decides that they need to share that. Whether anyone sees it or not. They blog it.

But me, I just...I mostly just, I mostly feel lost almost all of the time.

This has been the major theme of my 20s. Searching for something but feeling so hopelessly lost.

I always said, “I ain’t bringing that shit with me into my 30s. Thats fucking nonsense, that shit has got to stay back there where it sort of belongs.”

So I knew I'd end up here, where i am, with the grandparents in this house. In Irving Texas doing (or attempting to do) some kind of profession.

And for a the first year I was like “I'm HOME” that was huge for me! I felt at home, finally.

But I've been noticing I don’t really feel that way anymore, now that I am “used” to it. Accustomed to it.

I am ready to go but I don’t know where. I needed desperately to GO which I did in the past. I went (place to place across the west).

And I know that no matter the moments I received, experiences that added to who I am, beautiful poignant fucking things that happened, I never really FOUND whatever the fuck it is I felt like I needed to find.

And I guess that is basically L_I_F_E-- coping with these crazy feelings.

Maybe thats why people cling to certain religions. (And my that I mean anything they are basically indoctrinated in, whether it be a lifestyle choice like drinking or church going and the gospel, hallelujah!

This is getting too fucking deep (Like my buddy Rene says); beyond my ability to articulate.

I feel like time is moving so slow this summer. It's obscenely slow and painful like swimming in quicksand. I feel trapped. Among other things, lonely etc. I feel fucking paralyzed. In the past, I would DO SOMETHING, go for a walk, ride a bike, etc. just move my fucking body.

But today I can't move. I just can't move to save my life. It's not even a slovenly, lazy day where I watch TV shows all day and gorge on Nutella crackers. No, screw that, I am literally paralyzed.

I’ve been battling this all week or longer. But it was strong this week and I've earnestly tried distracting myself to shake myself out of it. But this morning I woke up to my alarm and it was raining outside. I felt so peaceful; one the rare times I felt rested. I wander into the kitchen to see Gma and Gpa at the table and Gpa smiles so I smile back and he teases me a sleepy head. But it wasn’t just the normal Gpa teasing.

“Welcome here. This is reality. This is whats real. This is whats going on. Come out of your fog. The other dimension isn’t real.”

….and I was so touched. I was deeply touched by that. Still am, tears form as I type.

I am eating breakfast across from Gpa with the annoying fucking kitchen TV blaring in the background, really so loud it's the foreground too. I hate that fucking TV because I hate it and I hate morning TV. I don't hate mornings, its not that. I just hate morning TV!

So, Gpa talking to whoever, if anyone, is listening as per usual. Talking about his COPD and trying to understand it. Same thing. So much that this week I printed out a long document with graphics complete with intermittent quiz questions about COPD. As I watched him toying with the edges of the papers, I heard myself saying to him “Gpa, what does the D stand for? What does the D stand for?”

-well I now know and thank you so much because its part of 3 things: emphysema, asthma, and chronic bronchitis

“Yes, that right but what does the D of COPD stand for?” He scans the papers, doesn’t know the answer. I point it out. Top sentence. He reads it.

-Oh, disease. “Yeah”---pause--- “disease.”

I proceed to tell him about how you don’t get rid of a disease. A disease is a permanent condition. I told him to look at me in the eyes. I said, “It doesn’t get better Gpa, you might have good days, some better than others. But this gets worse and worse. Until...”

He nods, thinking about what I am saying. But being the cute pie Gpa that he is...He is saying things like “Until I croak, ok I get it, well ....”

and then he is bargaining with himself. He's lived a long time he says, he recognizes now, these past few weeks, that this is the end that it will be this that causes it. He says Sally has COPD, so does some other people he knows or knew. Then he says, “But thats all I know-thats all I know- I had to work, had to make a life. I couldn’t just not work. I tried to do other stuff besides printing (the fumes are what caused all of this) I never did smoke. Wasn’t a smoker. I wasn’t a drinker. I just worked. I tried to pick cotton”

Laughing, Gma chimes in, “That lasted one day!”

Gpa says, “It lasted one hour!” He quickly found out that was not for him.

The conversation goes back to COPD and the ailments and symptoms; the lifestyle... Straying toward talk of medication and what he take that would make it better, make it go away...

I told him “Gpa, look at me. There is nothing else. You are already taking it. We are already doing what we can. This is it.”

COPD is the 3^rd leading cause of death. I mentioned that at some point during the day.

He mentioned how insufferable it would be to die that way, being chocked out of oxygen, not able to breathe. And I acknowledged him, saying “I know I have seen it first hand” and he nodded asking “Oh, you have?” but I didn’t answer. Of course I have, so has he. The night my mom died. Like a fish out of water gasping for air. Do they remember? Maybe. But I will never bring it up again, not the specific graphics. Not the images. Not the image of me closing her eyes. No, I mention only enough and only at times to prove a point.

So Gpa knows. He can continue pretending every few days not to have the first clue what COPD is and whats wrong with him. But he knows. He doesn’t even have dementia is the thing. Thats the thing I am seeing that makes this so hard.

In my understanding, a person with dementia is completely out there at times that they don’t know whats going on. He knows though. What I am seeing is a psychological coping mechanism.

And I guess, maybe thats why I have been paralyzed. But I only just realized that. I didn't start out wanting to write a blog about my Gpa's COPD or even about my paralyzing feelings as of late.

I didn’t know where it would go. I only know it now that I am here. I could have talked about the lesbian at the waxing salon and those funny stories. Or the plants I worked on today in the garden. Or the dog and her cute antics.

Earlier, when I was showering, I felt like I needed a reason to feel like a slug. Like a garbage ridden slug. For a moment, I blamed it on Wes. Because he called me today and we talked for the first time in a long time and many months after I informed him that, in the future, I don’t wish to call myself his “friend”

But its not Wes' fault. He was pleasant and jovial. Sure, my stomach knots up. Sure, I feel the rejection come back. Wes' past rejection mixing with the most recent rejection blending together to create some hybrid feeling of not being good enough.

But really, its no one's fault. Not even my own I guess.

I blame myself a lot.

I blame myself, in part, because of things …. knowing about x, then x, then x. 

Midnight Radio

Taking a moment to check myself, river swirls, summer lovers past and present

So, my grandmother asks me what time I will be getting up in the morning. I tell her I am going to get up at 5:45 am and workout. And her jaw falls so far I could see her tonsils! Gma! What the hell?! I know I have gotten lazy compared to this time last year but damnnnn....

So, then I get a text from Rene about how tomorrow is the one year anniversary of his move to Dallas.

Which got me thinking about last year, for both him and I as one year ago we were in similar situations starting the same position for that bastard company which shall not be named. We went through the same insane training and bullshit.

And at that time I got up and took Journey on a morning jog in the neighborhood, took a shower, and went to work. At 7:30!

I was so positive, I had come back from Greece unhappy that I was back in a way defeated but in another way still feeling all that love that had take over my heart and mind. Residual effects from the whole situation. And a fairy tale it was not. Being in Greece was hard, very very hard! The only light in my life was Miltos and the light he gave me reflected and maybe seemed to shine onto other parts of my life. But really he was the fuel to my fire. And this time last year, I guess, in a way, I hadn't let go of the notion of us being together at some point in the future, around the corner.

And now, all that has worn so thin. In no part to the fault or fumble of my love in Greece. But I am walking in quicksand here. Feeling farther and farther away from the fantasy that I held onto while being in his light.

And I am so lonely. And unhappy. And angry.

I keep blaming it on being broke as a joke...but that isn't it. I've been broke for years!!! I had very small windows of time in my post college life where I have not being completely broke. I smile with pride at those times. It's true I am proud of myself and definietly don't have regrets in the choices I have made. So that's good.

So, getting back to the point, it ain't about being broke. My father looks at me in conversation and I can hear his inner thoughts. He pities me, thinks living here is hell and that I am lying to myself about being able to be happy here.

Jenna invited me to Utopia, TX this past weekend. While there, in between the complete chaos of travel and drunkenness and as always the persistent annoyingness of being around Jenna and Wes as they are infatuated with each other, I had some very surreal grounding moments. Saturday morning seemed to be lazy for the others but I had taken my bike so I rode around town and then to the dam and went swimming in my shorts and tank top. She knows I am at home in the river, any river down there. I don't think many people know that about me unless they have seen it, see what happens to me. It's a religious experience for me. So, I am lying there free and drifting watching the tops of the trees.

And for the first time, I thought, maybe my father is right. Maybe I am unhappy up here.

But my question is, how much of it is geography and how much is the changing circumstances?

How much of it is my new career? How much of it is love lost?

So yeah, I am tired of being tired/sad/helpless/lonely and I am going to get up at dawn and move my body.

And maybe I can start figuring some shit out.

A puzzling contradiction

Hannah is a friend that makes a very quantifiable impact on my life. I have a huge amount of respect and admiration for her. She has without being overtly motherly, given me some important but subtle direction as well. All people are multidimensional and multifaceted. So, she is many things but for the purposes of referencing some of her attributes I think it's fair to give her a few adjectives:
Classy
Sassy
Sweet with a large side of Mean
Funny

I list these first because these are the things which I believe we have most in common.

The other areas of our lives we have very little in common. I guess they are less important in a way, however, because she is one of my best friends (which I believe rotate as needed through the timeline of life) so basically, [disclosure: if you are my friend and reading this just know you are probably also my best friend.]

In any case, I think I've earned the right to call Hannah a bitch. I don't mean the way girls reference that in endearment and giggle like it's some inside joke.

Puh-lease!

I mean Hannah is a Bitch. Telling her this to her face might incur the wrath so I don't go that route. I am however sure that I can say that if Hannah is asked to really think about it, she knows I would describe her this way. What I find amusing and what pleases me about the whole topic is that we could move past that. 

Hannah isn't the type of person to take a situation and turn it into something more than it is. Girl has other things to think about, deal with, and do. Quite frankly, she can be a great friend but if the tides turn she will take it in stride. I feel like she can easily walk away from a lot of relationships (for instance ours). And I get that.

What I DON'T get is her continued resolve to never officially walk away from the relationship of that with her Hubs. Her Hubs is basically the kryptonite to my metaphorical Superman personality. I am against practically everything about him. I mean, he has only a few things going for him. One, he is a man. Two, he provides income. Three, ..shit I got hung up on three.

So, basically, what makes me scratch my head is that Hannah more or less sees him in this very same light.

I am not criticizing her choice to not move on. Trust me. I get that life gets ever so complicated and entangled with time and other factors including, but not limited to, children.

I am only saying, that I don't really get it. It's not representative of who she is. It's just not.

In closing, here is an image from 2007 that, if she knew I was sharing, she would NOT be crazy about. In fact, I can say with certainty that if it was posted on facebook, she would untag herself.

BAM! Kiss!

You kiss your kids, you kiss your spouse. Obviously, in different kinds of ways.

Maybe your spouse kisses you on the cheek when you are cooking supper. It warms your heart. Think about how much the feeling lasts for people who are neglected. The older we age the less that we are touched. Touch somebody.

Kiss your grandparents, not just when you say hello or goodbye. But when they don't expect it. Today, I walked in from the yard to find grandpa had fallen asleep in his chair. AsI walked up he opened his eyes and BAM! I kissed him on the cheek. That'll last him for hours at least!

I walked into the kitchen and Gma was doing her mail and BAM! I kissed her cheek! She *giggled* I made my 80 y/o Gma giggle.

So, stop being so serious all the time.

Pat on the shoulder, touch hands, kiss cheeks!

Just do it!

Warehouse of the Abandoned

My Saturday morning began with my refusal to enter reality, causing me to leave my dream, where I was having a fucking adventure! I am so annoyed by leaving my adventures for something as dull as real life. I usually get over this fairly quickly and am not one of those zombie-like people that take several hours to actually become a functioning human. The morning is the best time to cuddle with my dog, who is now almost 7, and has mellowed significantly. She allows and enjoys dog massage. It's definitely several grades above simple petting. Dog massage is for only a few "special" (read:insane) dog people. Whatever, my dog deserves a good massage.

Entering the kitchen to make coffee I see my Grandma in one of her usual states of mind. It's a unique kind of frenzy basically where by Grandma's brain wheels are spinning so fast I am pretty sure she could produce enough electricity to run the household. When do you think neuroscientists will tap into this kind of source?

Moving on. I helped her fix her calculator, which she had been working on for an hour in vain. Poor thing. I told her if we just look the model up on the internet it will tell us what to do. Without defensiveness, just matter of factly, she reminds me that, during her day people had to figure things out with their mind. Which is true. I give her some serious credentials. Woman can build a house and do a billion other useful tasks with pure willpower. After solving the calculator issue I ate some cereal at the table talking to my Grandma about how she belonged in the pioneer Manifest Destiny days. She would totally roll with the punches. And by punches I guess I mean cholera, mountains, creeks, broken wheels, sick animals, and squirrel hunting. That type of thing. No problem for Grandma.

Then I mentioned something she has been wanting to do- going to the warehouse of the abandoned. Diatribe about old money, spoiled rich, and quality made home items. There. Covered that. So Grandma simply says, "Well. I'm ready." And she was-of course- she ALWAYS is. Wake Gma up at 3am saying "Gma we have to _____" and she'll say, "Give me 5 minutes." And then she'll be standing at the backdoor looking in after you seeing if you are ready to go yet.

So at the warehouse, which so should be renamed something spectacular and significant, I found that although leaving my previous dreams was crappy I could have some new dreams in these aisles of abandoned EVERYTHING.

As if we did not have enough projects...now we have several more.

While leaving, Gma preferred that I employ a different technique to turn the truck around out of the lot. I said "Your granddaughter knows how to drive a truck." Lately, I have been doing that for some reason. Saying things like "Your granddaughter is one resourceful lady!" and "Your granddaughter's mother didn't raise no fool!"and "Your granddaughter is absolutely NOT planting a photenia tree in this yard!" or "Your granddaughter does not understand the point of ironing sheets!"

A couple weeks ago I lost my job. Well, it's not like I lost it so much as I was fired. And I wasn't so much fired as I was pissed off, aggressive, and quit. It's complicated. Let's move on.

The next day I loathed existence. Nothing meant anything and everything was futile. About 5 days later I got over it, deciding to wash my hair again. In any case, I went outside and stared at the ground for a while. Next thing I know I was up in the tree trying to cut down limbs and branches that did nothing wrong except grow in an angle that made me feel like they deserved to be destroyed. At one point I got down to get a saw also and a pair of gloves for my hands because apparently I was fucking serious.
After some time my Grandma was standing under the tree looking up at me.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm cutting on this tree!"
"I am going to the post office. I'll be back in a little while."
"Ok." I readjust and crotch-climb up higher.
Grandma gets in the car, puts it in reverse. I swing my leg over a knob so I can push out awkwardly at an angle to reach farther. Grandma put it in drive, scoots back up to the tree, rolls down her window and says "Do you need the saw?"
"I already got it."
"Ok, bye." She leaves.

This is my Grandma. Ask Seth. He once witnessed my assignment of limb cutting the pecan tree while on top of the garage. I was satisfied but Gma asks about getting just one more branch. She suggested I get the ladder set up in the bed of my pickup, back in, and climb on top with a POLE SAW.
I looked at Seth's mouth hanging open, eyes big. "Sorry Gma, ain't going to happen." She moves on to the next task of busy work muttering something about how she would do it. And she will. You gotta watch her. That same determination that keeps her going strong also keeps me trailing behind her trying to talk her down off the metaphorical ladder.

Sunshine curls of an angel comes to visit

Just a dream... 


Jenna and I are in a van with no windows, leaving somewhere exotic with mountains in the background but grasslands along the road. The wind is blowing and we are laughing with our heads out of the windows. I'm happy, really happy. Innocently happy like a child. And so I begin to think about Jon-Clay and there he is running along side the van in the tall grass, his blond curls bouncing from his shoulders. He's laughing and we are laughing and Jenna is smiling, thinking "Oh, look, he came to say hello! He came to say Hi!" And I was telling her, "Of course he did. I told you he'll come sometimes. If I think of him he'll come." It wasn't that she didn't believe me. In dreams like this it's that I need her to be with me for her to see him. Either that, or he needs to see her, and he can do it easier when I am with her. I am not sure. Either way it's not quite like "matchmaker" feeling. But it is like showing the sun the moon or something very important. Like I am honoring him by making him come. Like I am honoring her by showing her I can make him come.

NPR Yankee

Interview highlighting my old stomping ground! Reactions to story in real time.

http://www.npr.org/2013/01/25/170299272/in-arizona-some-retirees-caught-in-never-ending-battle-with-invasive-species

Good for you Gary! Software development does crazy things to folks!

"Good intentions gone bad" ....hahaha

I picture the man (you KNOW it was a man) from the BLM, boots on the table, cigarette in hand, Home Simpson *Dope!* 

"Sisyphean"??? Shit man, who are you?! You can't talk like that unless you live here! Then it's OK to think that. Maybe. If I like you. Ok? -_-

Sisyphean [ˌsɪsɪˈfiːən]

adj

1. (Myth & Legend / Classical Myth & Legend) relating to Sisyphus

2. actually or seemingly endless and futile

Hey, John! My man!!! Go John Scheuring oh yeah, oh yeah! Blast from the past homie, how've you been?!

OK, "gravel scar" that's fair.

Ocotillo ain't a tree yeh Yankee.  -_- 

"Not this time, but I admire the dedication." Damn Yankee can't even pick up a pick for a pic or a radio story?! -_-

John, where's our shout out? I speak on behalf of us harness wearing, crazy cliff rappelling interns with a plastic tub of herbicide strapped on our backs for you, mannnn...

Period earrings

My friend Jenna went to Nicaragua last spring to help build a school made of trash. Specifically, plastic bottles. When Jenna came back I picked her up from the airport and intended to let her detox as long as she needed. Unfortunately and fortunately, I had a trip scheduled to Chicago with my girlfriend Hannah. Jenna ended up going home on the bus, something she is perfectly capable of but I didn't like anyway. I sort of imagined her weak state, nicotine cravings, too much world experience in too little time while travelling, and a bus full of Mexicans with chickens. I expect this was not the case and that I was remembering my time spent on the bus.

During the short time she was with me, we went to a Taco Cabana and Jenna had trouble not ordering everything in Spanish. She then refused to talk to me or my neighbors in Spanish. Instead she allowed me say things like "Journey is a good dog. Bueno and grande, comprehendo?" while they pet my dog. Jenna also sat with me at my dining room table, which at the time had been converted to an all out craft making, jewelry experimenting, mess fest. Jenna made herself period earrings. They were to be worn, guess when? It was to be a subtle notification to those around her smart enough to catch on to the fact that she was wearing earrings of stick figures with a red bead directly under the crotch.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Last time I saw Jenna, almost a year after this, she was wearing her period earrings. Her hair had grown long and demeanor had become disturbingly scattered. Consumed with new love of a boyfriend that was actually of substance in her life rather than a carbohydrate. Jenna is a Pisces. Not only do I strongly believe in Astrological signs but I have never actually known someone quite like Jenna. Somehow, within her cloud of new love, blushes, secret glances and giggles she had another thing brewing...

It's not a Lifetime movie or a reality show about confrontation. It's alcoholism as portrayed in the behavior of Jenna. Which unfortunately can be very endearing and beautiful. Jenna can speak your conscious. Other people might know what you are thinking because of knowing you well and being around you long enough. Jenna can access things within people around her that are left untouched by others. It's what her magic is. It's what makes people everywhere follow her, seek her, love her, and ultimately....take care of her, excuse her, enable her.

Some images stay with a person, especially when all the words, party chatter, drunken laughs all completely unmemorable. But Jenna in her purple parka with the hood shrouding her face, brooding, smoking her cigarette and speaking nonsense very quietly, almost silently.... The other party members in their groupings laughing, trying to act like they had something else other to talk about when in reality, all they have been discussing the past hour is Drunk-Jenna-Antics. The girls rolling their eyes, the boys in their wide eyes amazement of the enigma that is this woman. This woman they have to deduce to a stereotype drunk party girl because the mystery of what she really is remains unreachable.

And that is Jenna. A woman you can't help but try to reach, to grab and keep forever, that is completely and wholly the most unobtainable person you'll probably ever know.

I sit in the hot tub, stealing sideways glances, refusing to coddle her, a vow I made myself after years of our friendship separation. This woman who made me cry as I hiked the Greenbelt alone, without her, after she blew me off for a customarily inexplicable "reason" after I drove my gas guzzling V8 from Dallas to Austin to behold some of her beauty and allow her to speak to me, without being aware and without intention, and coax away the loneliness I store up living and working here in the Big City.

A puppy just born unable to see, trying to learn and discover the surrounding world. This is Jenna beyond drunk at 3am refusing to come to consciousness, my efforts changing from sweet and concerned to frustrated and angry. "You bitch!" I say to her. I unzip my knee high boot, feeling like a clever asshole. 1st boot in the face with no reaction. "You BITCH!" The second boot better get you and dammit if it doesn't and I am leaving my favorite coffee cup here AND my boots I am driving back to Dallas cursing you for my frozen feet because this is NOT OKAY!

Some frustrating and hilarious moments later, I hand her off to the lover, "Special Delivery" I say. And I could see it right then, his face, his anger, his frustration, his beating heart for her.

Yep, this isn't just another man and it's not just any other night. This is our beating hearts stumbling in her tight Levi's across the wooden floor, her Period earrings left in the house across the street next to my coffee cup and boots.

She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak
I've been locked inside your Heart Shaped box for weeks
I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black

Hey!
Wait!
I've got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Coffee and Pancake Butt

This is the new me.
Coffee and Pancake Butt.

The grind. The ratrace. The beginning of the end. Surrounded by 3 walls 5 ft high. My new lover, Hewlett Packard.

The recording of my random streams of consciousness begins again.

A blurb I liked on an article about OSX updates to Snow Leopord.

MagnusVonMagnum

21 months ago

Oh boy. The biggest features of this release is that it gets you ready to upgrade to another version of the operating system. What does it do? Install docking clamps to the warp drive, power up the transporter and set phasers to stun? :D

Enjoy it folks. There will be no more updates to Snow Leopard except for security updates. This will be the last version of OSX period for some. I certainly see no pending reason to upgrade (at least until software I use/need requires it). Most of the new Lion features are pointless at best (namely all the iOS ones; my desktop is not a giant iPad and shouldn't be treated as one). http://www.macrumors.com/2011/06/23/apple-releases-mac-os-x-10-6-8/

 

 

 

In other Mac readings, this guy, http://www.dremeljunkie.com/2013/01/imac-g4-ivy-bridge-hackintosh-finishing.html is a genius and should be revered and paid lots of money. Good luck, guy, good luck.

 

 

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I don't think Sandy Hook is a hoax. I think it makes sense for some people to investigate certain oddities of the incident.

 

What I will say is it seems to have been gathering steam, and conveniently this morning the news is throwing every other hoax story at us to distract from the Sandy Hook one.

 

Some football player and his girlfriend, etc....No one cares about that. But go ahead, talk it to death, distract us. After all, Distraction becomes more and more of a relevant cultural aspect of this county everyday.

 

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