|I'll remember why I'm doing this. I know I will.
||[Aug. 13th, 2006|07:49 pm]
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
Sitting here listening to the bard of rapturous bereavement wrap his sepulchral baritone around a few songs of betrayal and loss* while I attempt to install Ubuntu on my flaptop.
So now we have your traditional dual boot setup. I've started a breadcrumb file so that I can find my way back here if I ever have to do it again. I've spent a few hours now trying to get the modem set up so that I can access a dial-up connection under Linux. Ubuntu supports only a few modem chip sets, not including the one I have. Ubuntu might not have been my first choice, but that's what we're moving to at work, so I thought it would be an educational exercise to run it at home, too. So first you comb the net for a script that, when run, will tell you what modem chip set you have. Then you download a driver and installer from an obscure ftp site in Israel that will make the modem work if you can make the installer work.
This is very reminiscent of DOS (remember DOS?) running on AT clones (remember ATs? remember clones?). Every machine required a slightly different set of drivers and config.sys entries to work properly. That's the up-side of the Dark Side. Everything just works (mostly). You don't have to know anything. You don't have to read English. You barely need to be literate in any language at all. Just remember what happens when you click on each little coyote turd on your desktop.**
Yes, real men don't eat quiche or run Windows, and as a result they spend their evenings and weekends running Swedish chat room fragments through Babel Fish to see if someone's already solved this problem or that.
. . .
Found another good word: dithyramb, 2 : a statement or writing in an exalted or enthusiastic vein
So, I was thinking this journal could be a logorrheic dithyramb. But I don't think it has the spirit to be a dithyramb. Logorrheic? Probably. Dithyramb? Probably not.
. . .
*Paraphrased from Richard Corliss's review of Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man. If I talked like that, I wouldn't be here.
**We decided that desktop icons are like coyote turds. Coyote turds vary in appearance. One day the coyote ate a chicken, the next he ate a garter snake, the day after that a rabbit, and the day after that a toad. They all end up as coyote turds. Each is a little different, but you may or may not be able tell what it used to be by simply looking at it.
Desktop icons are like that. You often can't tell what they are supposed to be pictures of, but they are unique enough that you eventually associate "cut" with this one and "paste" with that other one.