Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

I’ve been using a Macintosh since 1985. I buy a new one about every 3 years. It’s an informed decision. All of my software is on the Mac OS. I don’t want to change platforms. It’s what I’ve been using for damn near 20 years, I’m comfortable with it, I’m good at it, and I like it. For some reason I get a nasty comment at least weekly from someone about my choice in computers; more often if I tell someone new what I use. Do I denigrate their machines? No. Do I take random potshots about their cars, clothing, grocery habits, music preferences? No. I try not to pick on anyone like that. In return I have to deal with the stupid (and these days usually uninformed) comments about my computer. Friends, family members, people off the street – they all seem to think that I am fair game to dole out a ration of shit to simply because they think their OS is superior to mine.

Are they more expensive? Yes. But I can afford it, and it’s what I want to buy. Do you pick on someone who drives a Mercedes because he could have driven a Honda instead? Probably not. So back off. There are several hundred reasons why I like my computer and prefer it over my Windows machine (I have one of those) and Linux machine (I have one of those too).

De gustibus non disputandum est. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. To each his own. There are so many cliched phrases to cover the situation. Here’s a non-cliched phrase – if you don’t want me acting like a snob about your shit, don’t act like a snob about mine. It’s hurtful.

How to welcome someone to work at Starbucks.

Santa santa santa santa santa presents presents. Be warned: it’s badgers, and it’s hypnotic.

I don’t care how cheesy you think it is. It’s one of my favorite movies of all time. I have two copies on DVD. I can quote it as it plays. I never tire of it. It always makes me cry. I wish they still played it 30 times a day during the season.

Nothing like having that special someone and that special coffee table.
What to get the single guy in your life for Christmas.

I’m sure you’ve heard this story by now – a Marine injured in battle tells the docs to cut off his finger rather than his wedding ring. They lose the ring anyway. If that were my husband I’d kick his ass. You can get another wedding ring. You can’t get another finger. What kind of crass consumerism does that denote? It’s the symbol of a marriage, not the marriage itself. It’s not sweet. It’s idiotic.

Ok, rant off.

I find this darkly amusing.
I find this frightning.
I find this pretty, even if it is French.

We have this nightlight in the hallway. It was a gift that was given to me for being a moderator in Journalcon 2003. For some reason my cat Max has taken great umbrage to said nightlight, and keeps knocking the cover off of it. At first I thought it was just falling off, until one day I saw him in action. As I watched, the cat let out a mighty grunt and swatted the cover clean off. Then he sniffed haughtily and sauntered off, tail held high. What a weird little creature.

The nightlight:

The cat in front of the nightlight:

(Click for the full-sized versions.)

It’s so cuddly and cute. And it’s a uterus!