noideadog: (Default)
me: do you know what?
in 5 weeks and 2 days, you'll have a wife
Joel: !
who is it going to be?
me: no idea!
Joel: it can't be lucy, because she's a cat
noideadog: (meerkat)
Oh, I forgot to say: Joel ate some bad turkey about 36 hours ago, and his crowning achievement since then is that he managed to keep down some applesauce, so please send good thoughts his way. Food poisoning is not fun at all.
noideadog: (meerkat)

A combination of things
Originally uploaded by xymb.
This was January 20th. You guys, can you imagine a birthday better than this? Joel baked me sodabread too.
noideadog: (natural dancer)

The Table
Originally uploaded by xymb.
It is midday. I'm sitting in bed with a big mug of coffee and a sleeping boyfriend. The cat is doing her morning laps, skating across the top of the couch, crossing the floor without making any obvious contact with it, and bounding up on the windowsill to 180 off the wall before disappearing back into the kitchen. Remember the first scene with Trinity in the Matrix? That's our cat.

Today I will build a table I bought on the Internet. I find that the worst part of being on call is the sore back and sweaty knees you get from fixing problems using a laptop in bed. Now I have a work table! As tends to happen to me, I'm disproportionally excited about it, and I've postponed my arabic homework so that I can do it at The Table. I attach a picture of The Table for no particular reason other than that the picture exists.

Joel's still playing Fallout 3. He came in at two last night, with rheumy eyes and a distracted air about him, focussing intently on objects across the room that he might be able to click on. He said "Please remind me to blink tomorrow", applied eye drops, and fell asleep, presumably to dreams of whatever Fallout 3 is about. (If I was a better girlfriend, I would have found that out by now.)

Joel's normally all interactive by ten thirty on a Saturday, so I'm enjoying being able to sleep a bit later today, and indeed all week. The most effective alarm clock is a hungry cat who has been alerted to the fact that you're awake.

It's 12:30. The cat has gone back to sleep, curled up to the vacuum cleaner. The street outside is unusually quiet too. I like the idea of the city as a person, having an unhurried morning after an excellent Hallowe'en night out, maybe contemplating how nice everything is and deciding that today is not a day to attempt anything too strenuous.
noideadog: (nyc)
I got sunburned today (but only a little) while walking from the office to the coffee shop. For the first time in my life, the sun is darkening my skin. You couldn't call it a suntan. A darker shade of pale, maybe.

Joel's been in Phoenix for a week now, although I was away for the weekend so it only feels like four days.

On Monday I cleaned the apartment, then read about dead Russians.

On Tuesday I went to the pub with my colleagues, had two small beers over five hours[1], then went home and read about dead Russians.
[1] I'm still bewildered by how much easier it is to do that here than it is in Dublin.

On Wednesday I worked late, debugging something urgent, then went for pizza with colleagues, then read about dead Russians.

Today, still wanted by the Government I worked late again, but not on anything urgent. It's close on midnight now, and I can't think of anything to do other than go home, discuss philosophy with the cat[2], and see whether one or other of the Bolonskis tells their da to die in a chemical fire. Oh, how I hope they do.
[2] Our ethics are far apart and she's more of a free marketer than I am, but we're currently coming together on some aspects of John Stuart Mill.

My work objective of "leave the office by 7:30pm" has suffered since I've had the house to myself. When Joel's not here, I'm also far more likely to stay up reading until my eyes burn out, or to decide to make a cocktail at 2am, or to sleep in for an extra two hours, or to eat pizza in bed. When I lived on my own before, I had little urge to do any of these things. Now.. now I must live like my student self, because when will I get the chance again? The extra foolish thing is that I'm certain that Joel's doing the same thing in Phoenix.
noideadog: (travel)
Joel has just left for Phoenix, and for the next two weeks I live on my own. Expect an increased level of 3am posts about crazy shit and words I like and how it's 3am and I should go to sleep but isn't the internet lovely. Or indeed about how I should probably leave work soon and get some sleep.

This evening I'm taking the bus to Canada. It's advertised as an eight hour journey, but I've been told it's more likely to be ten, and that I should expect to be delayed at customs, harassed by crazies, woken up by annoyances, cross, irritated and overtired, but probably not decapitated.

If I read for the entire journey, I still won't be finished War and Peace. This is.. good, I guess?

In Montreal, I will meet [livejournal.com profile] the_antichris, send a postcard to DOCTOR JARED BRICK, remember that poutine is not pronounced poutan, and be unable to speak French. I can do the last one here too, of course, but in the US it's more interesting to be unable to speak Spanish.

Here's what I know about Montreal:

- is in Quebec
- speaks French
- uses religious swearwords, like "tabernacle", but MUCH LOUDER
- likes poutine
- does not love the queen as much as the rest of Canada
- uhh..


Do you know about Montreal? Tell me about Montreal please.
noideadog: (meerkat)
Stupid weather. We were supposed to go to the zoo today, but it's thundery outside, so I just had to text a bunch of people and call it off. Stupid thunder. No monkeys for us, not today.




Joel and I made a solemn pact that we would not buy a dog or a cat, no matter how adorable and/or sad they looked, and then, braced for emotional assault, we took a cab to the ASPCA shelter on 92nd and 1st. (Joel, reading this over my shoulder, points out that "the normal ending for a setup like this is that we end up with four cats, two dogs, a chimpanzee, two ferrets, and something that appears to be a vole", but no, we were strong and left without animals of any kind.

We're sort of in the market for a dog, if one comes along that we both approve of. It's a tricky thing to find: a dog that's small enough to go on the subway, but that's still distinctly a -dog-, not an oversized fluffy rodent. There wasn't really anything at the shelter that fit the bill. Mouldy-looking shi-tzus were more the order of the day, though there was a beagle and a cocker spaniel that were only a bit too big. Oddly enough, the dogs I really loved were the ones who normally get bad press: a couple of sturdy pit bulls and a big mournful rottweiler. Neither of those fit our owner profile.

Which..

I'm surprised to find that even our indoor and fairly sedentary lifestyles can be compatible with dog ownership. They match you up based on a questionnaire: "How many hours a day will the dog spend outside?"; "Are you a lazy shite? No, honestly?"; "Do you want a dog that continually affirms its love for you"; and so on. Since they started doing this profiling, they get much fewer dogs returned to the shelter.

Here are animal shelter facts:
* the TCO of a dog is $1500 per year
* keeping one or two dogs in a studio apartment is considered perfectly reasonable, so long as they get good walking and the amount of attention they like.
* kittens are so much in demand that they're rarely at the shelter for more than a day after they're ready for adoption
* there are far, far more pitbulls than you might think
* there were no puppies. Do puppies only happen at certain times of the year, or something?

I should mention that the animals were extremely loved and healthy, that the volunteers were amazing, cheerful, enthusiastic people, and that the ASPCA is definitely going onto my charity christmas card list.




"Come over here and show me your boobs" was the first thing I heard a I entered Linda's Bra Shop, a tiny centre of brassiere excellence on the Upper East Side. It was a promising start, and the rest of the experience didn't disappoint. I left with a good strapless bra for the bridesmaid dress I'm wearing for Aishling's wedding. I recommend Linda's Bra Shop to the.. uhh.. one female person who lives in New York and who is at all likely to read this. (Hi Erica!)

Afterwards, I proposed tea and scones at the muliebral Alice's Tea Cup, and Joel suggested doing the crossword together there. "That's optimistic", I said. "The [NY Times] Saturday crossword is -hard-". But Joel said he thought we'd be ok, and displayed a copy of the Irish Times, which he'd found in a nearby bodega while I was bra-shopping. Doing the crosaire[1] while eating scones in a cafe.. oh, it felt just like home, and I was very happy.

[1] Fun cryptic crossword in the Irish Times. One of my favourite things in the world.




I had a weird hankering to write code, so the day finished in the office, beating my head against the pythonic convention and trying to understand things. It's coming, but slowly. And it gave rise to this conversation

me: $ ./stuff.py --madeyup

python: TypeError: 'tuple' object is not callable

me: Look, if you mean "You left out a comma", just say it, ffs. Don't be so fucking enigmatic all the time.

python: You left out a comma on line 29


Ok, the last line didn't happen. I'd enjoy coding more if it would.
noideadog: (school)
I just learned that NYU teaches a Certificate in Unix Systems Administration, something I've never heard of anywhere else. I suspect someone coming out of that course would be conversant with all of the options to the 'useradd' command, but wouldn't be at all clear on what a process is. Nonetheless, interesting that my profession is getting taught in school.

I've spent the last half hour digging around through the various other courses on offer. An engineering course includes a module on "the history of concrete". Joel protested that he could learn everything he needs to know about concrete from wikipedia, and since then I've been getting a stream of astonished expletives and concrete trivia. "Did you know that as early as 50BC the Romans had the techniques of pouring concrete?" "The secret of portland cement was entirely lost from 400 AD to 1840AD!". (This sort of thing happens when you mention things to Joel.)
noideadog: (meerkat)
Remember those "love is.." cartoons that used to be in newspapers?

Love is.. sneakily installing light therapy lights so that she gets out of a week-long horrible mood.

(Apparently the new new lamp that's been shining directly in my face for the last couple of mornings is a heavy duty serotonin generator. I feel a bit like a test subject, but I do really appreciate that man.)
noideadog: (black books)
Nothing much happened for the rest of the evening. I ordered fish on the internet (the future!), and when it arrived, I ate it and watched Eddie Izzard in Glorious. My boy is asleep, making little twitchy dream movements, like Lucy does when she sleeps. I should be sensible and try to sleep too, but I think I might steal a glass of his armagnac and continue working on Pillars of the Earth.

It's only been a week, but I feel like I've been reading Pillars of the Earth for months now. The Kindle-novelty means that I'm still reading every free second I have, so I flew through the first two books on it, which makes PotE seem even longer.

Not that it's a bad story -- it's a very good story, of a dude building a cathedral, fighting a great deal of adversity, with lots going on and a nicely involved, twisty plot -- but it's that there's so much of it. The book goes on and on, doing pretty good character development, apart from the way the principle bad guy has to kick an old lady or set fire to a puppy or whatever in every scene he's in, so we won't forget he's the bad guy. Actually, the evil characters are what makes me long to be finished. Their crimes are so luridly detailed that it's impossible [for me] to get comfortable and enjoy the book, rather than bracing for the graphic description of rape or murder that's guaranteed to be on the next page.

Right now, about half way though, our heroes are in a happy, sunshiny part of the story. They're telling each other about how nice their day is going to be, which means that -really- horrible stuff is about to happen. Disaster is always looming, and the author is not shy about foreshadowing it. PotE's very well written, but I feel like my shoulders have been tensed for far too long now. I'll be glad when I've finished it so I can relax again.
noideadog: (booze)
Tanya: I've ordered a sidecar twice when it wasn't on the menu, and both times the person didn't have a clue what I was saying. I have to practice saying 'sidecar' so people can understand it.
Joel: you need to emphasise the 'd'
Tanya: siDeh-car?
Joel: soyid-car?
Tanya: or in fact "fuck you"
Joel: or you could take the buuuuus?
Tanya: or "fuck you"?
Joel: how's your buuke?
Tanya: it's fuck you.
Joel: oh, you're frisky this evening.

See what I have to put up with? (But things just aren't as funny when you write them down, are they?)

Sidecars are really yummy. You take some brandy, half as much cointreau and the same half as much lemon juice, and you shake it in ice to make it cold, and it's just about as delicious as anything can be. Mostly people coat the rim of the glass in sugar, but that's gack so I don't do it.




Today I bought a bunch of herbs. Someone posted a while back about plants that are poisonous to cats, and I wish I'd read that at the time, because it seems like most things make cats sick. Tomatoes can, for one thing, and marigolds, and something called croton, which isn't really a herb, but I thought would look nice in the window box. I haven't seen Lucy eat plants ever. How much of a gamble is it to have stuff around her that'll make her sick? I've read some conflicting articles, varying from "cats are smart enough not to eat stuff that'll hurt them" though "my cat eats tomatoes every day; where's this toxicity claim coming from?", to "if your cat sees tomatoes at a distance, she will DIE!!". Having a cat is a lot of responsibility.

Lucy's definitely my cat too by now, not just Joel's. Being the one to take her to the vet made that true for me, especially sitting in the waiting room worrying about her tests. She's an excellent cat. I love her a lot.




In other news, I bought a radio-controlled power switch thing, so that we don't have to get out of bed to unplug the light. Which is a bit under five feet away. We need a word stronger than "lazy" to describe us.

And that reminds me, I was talking about Dim's cat, Achilles, and it was like this:

Tanya: Hey, did you ever notice that Achilles is athletic and likes people? And Dim is athletic and likes people? And..
Joel: You can stop there.

Lucy is rotund and petulant and hates pretty much everyone who isn't currently holding food.
noideadog: (nyom)
Outside the theatre for Honor! (a Japanese musical interpretation of As You Like It, seriously), waiting for Diane, so taking the opportunity to do a quick update.

We're still not really unpacked. Joel's dad's coming to stay tomorrow, so we bought a guest bed. It also arrives tomorrow and may even fit in the closetguest room once we take out the stacks of clothes, cat accessories and obsolete cabling. And if it doesn't, then it's going to be very cosy here for the next few days.

Macbeth was very fine, very enjoyable and impressive. I studied him in school, so most of it was at the back of my brain all ready to be recited, but it's excellent that it still has the power to stir emotions even when you know exactly what's going to be said next. The witches were creepy, and you know what else? There's a lot more funny in there than I ever remember getting out of Macbeth before. I've read reviews saying that this is the one Macbeth you need to see in your life, and while I know that reviews like this are only true until the next production, I've honestly seen nothing that shook me like this one did. It was very good, is my inadequate review. It was wonderful.

That said, we were drunker than is ideal for Shakespeare, and that might have helped keep everything at its emotional peak. We celebrated our anniversary with a meal at L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, the restaurant at the Four Seasons here. It was much posher than we are, with very special-occasion prices (a martini at the bar, for example? A cool $25+tip.). I enjoyed it very much.

We had the taster menu, where you get seven courses of whatever the chef reckons, plus accompanying wine for each course. Oh my! Bread; gazpacho soup; langoustine; petis pois puree (mushy peas to you and me); dippy asparagus and poached egg; scallops; monkfish; jelly; sorbet; espresso and tea. And wine and wine and wine. And oh my god it was good. I thought I didn't like port. Joel thought he didn't like darjeeling. We both thought we didn't like scallops. It was an opinion-changing meal.

Diane's here. More later.
noideadog: (kitty)
There was a mouse :-( Not a clicking type of mouse, I'm afraid, but a scrabbling type of mouse, wriggling in a live release trap that we didn't know we had, freaking the fuck out. Lucy, infinitely useless, observed and pondered. The mouse struggled to escape. Lucy backed away and watched it. Time passed. We still had a live mouse. Lucy loses her stripes and is demoted to hamster.

It's ironic, because I was thinking, as I went into the bathroom, about how I'd declared that now that I can mix a decent martini I don't need Joel as much. (He finds this hilarious, as you might imagine). And I was thinking that maybe I could get myself an account on the usenet server he uses for downloading Seinfeld, and then I could free myself from the tyranny of boyfriend, or some such nonsense, and being entertained by how funny I was, and then I left the bathroom and there was a mouse.

God, I hate mice.

There was something when I was a kid where I was playing with a rat, all "Lovely puppy!", and my mum had a screaming fit about it, and I think that might be why I have a massive, crippling, and above all cliched phobia about rodents. It's only when they're moving though, and free to get on me. I can appreciate Drew and Nina's gerbils, and I once petted a stationary hedgehog, but get either of those out and scuttling about, and I'm backed against the wall and probably sobbing. I know it's completely illogical. Seriously, I totally know. I can't make it not happen. Phobias are retarded.

Apparently the way to release mice from sticky traps is to pour oil on them, but you're not supposed to live release mice in the city. You're supposed to kill the mouse. I wondered if someone (not Tanya) should dispatch it with a frying pan. Joel wondered whether a hammer might be faster. I started to cry a bit. Lucy stepped around the mouse, and wondered whether anything interesting was happening somewhere else in the apartment.

Time passed.

Joel came back from the garden all "Tell you what.. our neighbours have an oily motherfucking mouse on their hands now, that's what". Jesus Christ, I -appreciate- Joel. I want this on the record. (And his martinis are still better than mine anyway).

I'm on edge. Mice don't come in ones, do they? I told Lucy I don't like her any more. "You had one job to do, asshole." She's responding by stalking around the house, rustling things at intervals and making my heart jump into my throat. She's also nosing, with intense interest, under the cooker where the trap had been set, before the rodent wriggled it out of there. Does that mean more mice?

I want there to not be more mice in my house. I hate mice. That is all.
noideadog: (culture)
tanya: *uncharacteristic early-morning exuberance*
joel: *uncharacteristic early-morning coma*
tanya: you probably wouldn't be so tired if you hadn't stayed up 'til 4am reading Harry Potter.
joel: *narrowed eyes*
joel: AVERA KEDAVRA!
joel: ...
joel: *growl*
joel: (.. my kingdom for a wand..)
noideadog: (coffee)

Swamp Thing
Originally uploaded by xymb.
Joel: Hey, Swamp Thing. You know, in some countries, it's traditional to use the towel for drying as well as for a garment.
me: *shlup* *shlup* *shlup* Huh?
noideadog: (monkey!)
It's not exactly the same angle, because I couldn't resist including my boy in the picture, but here's another shoddy blackberry photograph from the windowsill of the new place, 46 hours after the first. We.. uhh.. moved in, I guess.

There's a bunch of things left to do -- the random-tools-and-crap cupboard closet is barely breached, and we need to rehang three interior doors, polyfilla spackle where the spice rack used to be, and unhang the curtains, but we're pretty much out of the old place. It was hard work. Harder than I expected, certainly, with the aforementioned burly gentlemen on the payroll, but once they were gone we were still left with the small but difficult things: bins garbage cans, the hoover vacuum cleaner, a couple of chairs, computers, an ice cream maker.. things that aren't very heavy, but that each take most of one person's carrying ability for a single trip. And a single trip involves going down three flights of stairs, through two locked doors, crossing the street, through another two locked doors, and up two flights of stairs. We worked hard today. We sweated and swore a lot today.

Lucy's still exploring. She's not -entirely- impressed so far. Some things she likes: the skirting board baseboard is a sort of three dimensional thing that can be removed from the wall and turned into a cat-sized tunnel; the boxes make for good climbing. Some things she doesn't like: the windowsill isn't as securely attached as it could be; we didn't like that lamp anyway.

Check out that brickwork!
This evening, we celebrated, glugging fizzily from the bottle, because we didn't know where the glassware was buried. I'm impressed that the Chinese dude in the offie liquor store, whose utterances are usually incomprehensible to me, has far better French pronunciation than I do.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)

new apartment
Originally uploaded by xymb.
Here's the new place. You might think I mean "Here's a part of the new place", but no, this is a photograph of the whole lot, taken while I was sitting in the window, holding my blackberry as far back as possible to fit it all in.

There's a fireplace on the right that you can't see. The door on the left leads to a biggish walk in closet, and behind that is the entryway. On the right, at the back, that's the kitchen. I like the chunky wooden shelves. A door at the back of the kitchen leads into a tiny bathroom. It's dark partly because it was 11pm when I took the picture, and partly because it's a dark apartment. We'll get standing lamps or something.

I don't know if you can see that the walls are all exposed brick, and the floor is exposed wood, which fills me with joy and which makes Joel feel like he's living in a tenement in the 1800s.

This is either going to be the best thing ever, or a complete disaster. I still suspect the former.

I have a cold or something that's making my head and ears ache, and my brain seize up. I've been trying to work, but I can't produce any clever thoughts today. Despite recent attempts to eat healthily, I grabbed a box of mac and cheese for lunch, and hid myself in a meeting room and read a comic. I'm trying ibuprofen and diet coke now, and if that fails, I guess I'll go home.

Seize is e-before-i, which I never get right first time. Sieze. Seize.

The comic is The Secret Origins Of Jessica Jones, which is book four of the best series Marvel ever produced, and which is out of print and difficult to find. I bought it on eBay. I was saving it up until I re-read the first three again, so I'd get the maximum joy out of it, but today I feel sorry for myself, so I read it. It's as good as I'd hoped. But now I've no unread Jessica Jones left in the world. I have that empty feeling that sometimes comes after a good book. Sad.

Ugh. So irrationally depressed today. And my head hurts a lot now.

This is not going to be glandular fever. This is a regular cold. I fucking decree it.
noideadog: (insomnia)
When I'm the omnipotent ruler of the universe, I'll fix it so that whistling can only be done outdoors. Like, there'll be some acoustic science that means that whistling just can't be heard indoors. I think this is kinder than my original plan of setting fire to people who whistle in the office. It goes. Through. My. Head. It also goes through my Sennheisers, unless I turn the white noise up really loud. I think it's the most irritating of all the irritating office noise behaviours, easily beating the other front-runners:

- leaving your phone/pager on your desk to ring while you're not there
- using speakerphones
- bringing your child to work and talking to it in a stupid, cutesy voice
- calling your child at home and talking to it in a stupid, cutesy voice
- playing music too loud
- singing along to bits of the music in your headphones

I suspect that the most annoying one of all is coughing, which I do for about three months a year, so I could probably get off my high horse here.

I didn't get enough sleep. Joel's sick again, poor boy, this time with glandular fever, which is called "mono" in the US. It's not dangerous, but it's an uncomfortable thing to have, and he's not sleeping well, which, despite his best efforts to not disturb me, means that I'm not sleeping well either. There's no quick fix for mono; you can treat the symptoms, but to make it go away, the only cure is rest. So it's not entirely good timing that the next two weeks are when we move house, and go to Dublin and Rome.

I lay awake until after 5, glaring at the ceiling and thinking Dark Thoughts, and was woken before my alarm clock by the cat headbutting me. Actually headbutting. She's gotten over the angst, now that Joel is back, and she's reclaiming her position as the Keeper of the Schedule. I should have asserted my authority, but I got up and fed her instead. This is where it all goes wrong, I think.

Yesterday we saw Fight Girl Battle World, an amazing play by the Vampire Cowboys Theatre Company. It's every sci-fi movie ever, stuffed full of fun and in-jokes, montages, puppetry and choreographed fights and it's the funniest thing I've ever seen on stage. Put this together with the very clever special effects, and you end up with one of the most perfect pieces of theatre you'll ever see. But only if you're a nerd.

I skimmed the last few days of my friendslist, since I haven't been online much. Usual request for notification of anything good or important that I missed, please.
noideadog: (monkey!)
It's spring! Happy spring, everybody. Check out how great the google doodle is today.

I'm not noticing the seasons change here as much as I would in Dublin. I think it's because winter here has been very easy. It's also rumoured that spring may not really happen until May. Either way, there isn't the crackle in the air that is usually electrifying my brain at this time of year. I love spring in Dublin, and although I'm looking forward to seeing what it's like here, I'm a little sad to be missing it at home.

We viewed an apartment yesterday, and may move. It's just across the street from our current place, so we wouldn't lose our great location, but it's much bigger, with a better kitchen, a working fireplace, and shared access to a back yard and a roof deck. We'd be moving from a one-bedroom place to a zero-bedroom place, and paying a lot more money, but we're strongly considering it.

The zero-bedroom thing is something I hadn't seen much before, but seems to be a phenomenon here. It's like a studio apartment, I guess, except that the apartment takes up the entire floor of the house, so you can easily have separate spaces, just without dividing walls. Kind of funny: the thing I dislike most about the current place is that we have no interior doors. We'd be moving to having no interior walls either. Joel's excited about it, being a wide-open-space kind of guy, but I much prefer the security of small, cosy hideyholes. Luckily this place also has a walk-in closet that's bigger that our current bedroom. We'd probably equip that with a sofa-bed and a stupid amount of bookshelves, and my need for an alcove would be fulfilled. If we added some very white lightbulbs, it could also be a spare bedroom for visitors who weren't put off by a lack of windows.

We'd screen off a corner of the main room to make a bedroom, and although this still seems a bit odd to me, both the bedroom and the remaining living room would be a lot bigger than what we currently have. And having a back yard to sit in would be pretty cool. And we'd be sharing the house with only two other tenants, so we might make friends with them. And the new place has a washing machine, so even though we'd probably still be bourgeois scum and have the Nice Chinese Man downstairs do our regular laundry, we'd be able to wash stuff at home too, especially the delicate things that the NCM tends to shrink or fade. And we'd have control of our heating, instead of having the temperature for the house determined by the furnace in the basement. Which would be lovely, actually.

Heh. I think I just talked myself into it as I wrote this.
noideadog: (shutup)
The series of steps involved in playing a movie on Joel's media system for the first time.

- pull down the projector screen
- switch on the projector
- switch on the sound system
- boot the media pc
- log in as joel (he changed the password a while back so I'd be able to use this system)
- startx -- can't write local files blah blah. Hm, there's no homedir.
- check password file.. there should be a homedir
- ps auxw | grep mount -- it's trying to mount the other pc
- boot the other pc
- sudo mount -a -- no sudo access
- reboot -- can't find ide drives. wtf?
- powercycle -- it can find them now
- boot
- can ping the other PC, still no homedir
- reboot. powercycle. boot single user mode.
- need root password. Arse. Fine then.
- boot.
- Are there -any- window managers installed? Do I even remember how xinit works? No and no.
- xinit -- xinit starts a single xterm by default, out of focus and in the corner of the screen (there's a mouse attached to this box, but it's not easily accessible)
- read man pages.
- figure out xterm geometry to create a new xterm directly under the mouse pointer. Ok!
- vlc -- can't find disk.
- dmesg -- the disk is there. Get it together, vlc.
- read more man pages
- vlc dvd:///dev/dvd -- for fucks sake, like
- dvd starts to play. Hurray! Start to get comfortable, but..
- realise there's no sound
- powercycle all the sound-related things. Trace cables.
- try with headphones -- works fine, but headphone cable isn't long enough to watch the movie while sitting down.
- give up. text joel "Is there an incantation to make your insane media system produce sound?".
- read response. Read it again. Say some language.
- reboot again
- change the bios to disable onboard audio. srsly.
- boot. no ide disks.
- powercycle. boot.
- repeat several of above steps.
- watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

When Joel came home I told him "My next boyfriend will have a dvd player".

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