We enjoyed meeting with you last week, and were encouraged beyond our expectations by the challenges and rewards of working more closely with the Capitol Hill community in the approaching new year. On the heels of another few days of server hardware and subsequent software upgrades, I'm back into the saddle so to speak, and wanted to at least touch base with you. There was one thing I forgot to mention the other evening. We have a small network of older but quite functional Macintosh computers and a laser printer we'd like to donate to a local cause. Perhaps your presence on the Hill has given you a better idea of where we might find a worthy home for these machines. Capitol Hill Ministry, ANC 6B, and the Seventh Street Library come to mind...
Ideally, we would set up the network (or keep them single workstations), and boot them with functional software focussing on word processing and desktop publishing. All 3 Macintoshes can be configured to handle Email, and one is powerful enough for robust Internet-browsing, although extra hardware and of course Internet access would be required.
Perhaps we can discuss this matter more in depth later.
Of course we look forward to tomorrow night's mixer. Could you please refresh my memory with the address of the Bank building in which guests will be gathering?
Graphic Solutions Ink Systems
HEY LIV. BROADCASTING FROM WASHINGTON, DC. Cute, colorful, and as complex as a single flower in the sun, Olivia Pantelidis is the name I immediately loved, and loving with the prattling passion of history, I presumed it to be Greek in nature. Perhaps I am wrong. Yes, Olivia Pantelidis, I just had to write it again, the other names are all so lovely and fine, Liv and Okimikko (Japanese-flavor I note), but it was your whole given name which drew first blood. Thanks for writing back. Despite those terse beginnings, we have materialized much fun playing among the words.
Meanwhile, to answer your question, I live in Washington, DC, a block away from the stadium where the REDSKINS footballers used to play until moving to a new expensive facility in the suburbs last year. Good riddance I say, but I'd really love to see a baseball team play there for many reasons which I will spare you for now.
...like a whisper among the rapids. I write many words on many pages and build my websites one page at a time. Desperation is the poet's business. And my poems rot because I haven't put very many online yet, but the space is allotted, and some poems are planted there.
There's also a public hospital, a large highschool, a single small Ma & Pa grocery store, and the National Guard facility in my immediate neigborhood. Nothing else but old rowhouses, many in slum condition, offer my life much urban immediacy. Litter and glass plague these neighborhood streets and alleys. Gunshots are not so rare. Graffitti slang, not EVEN artistic, is sprayed wildcat upon this wall or that building. Wearing my social engineering cap, I lust for new business sections to open up down here, in well-designed heavy commerce worthy of a vibrant city just bursting to emerge from this neighborhood. My property is about half a mile from the River Anacostia flowing just the other side of the stadium. We are prime commercial, but alas, the city suffers and rages and dies, arguing poorly for residential nothingness. There are few wise men here. A city of imposters and ugly metaphors. Fakes and spastic manipulators. Tyrants and suit salad liars. The city is withering on the vine of potential growth. Down here they call it a race issue. It's really an ego issue. Meanwhile, we wither no differently than the ivy on the pole.
It's no secret I too curl up among my words and the books that publish them. My own few favorites are scattered around my website. You can visit the Scenewash Project 20003 and click to THE LITERARY CHIP. Still not a whole lot there yet, but I aim to establish a little here, a little there, and take heed that I am slowly bringing it all together. This is practically all I do in my miserable life among the mobs of malcontention, but that might be exaggerating ever slightly, like a whisper among the rapids. I write many words on many pages and build my websites one page at a time. Desperation is the poet's business. And my poems rot because I haven't put very many online yet, but the space is allotted, and some poems are planted there. Check around. Be my Australian friend. I don't have one yet.
It seems like we've damned near established some sort of literary correspondence, and while I get really busy sometimes, I do appreciate an interesting correspondence. I freelance, and work several current clients on a sporadic basis. I work and take great peace and ponderance in my garden, and am enlisted in the minds that matter to fight back all the garbage entropy and grime have a way of bringing to my attention . . .
She's a 63 year old junior at Oglethorpre University in Atlanta, down in the state of Georgia, so go figure. She loves school, and has never been happier in her life! She studied Nietzsche this past quarter and now feels driven to discuss a poem with me...
I do all this from home, and in fact, rarely leave the Dollhouse & Grill [our pet names for the house & yard], and am somewhat agoraphobic in that way. I live here with two others. Peter and Sue. You can read about them on the website as well. I'm currently trying to finish Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. You really should read this book, without question. It is a rare instant classic, much better than (Gunter) Grass's The Rat, which I only mildly found amusing or interesting. In fact I was disappointed, I must say. Perhaps the title was not indicative of Gunter's other work, but it reminded me of Thomas Pynchon's Vineland, and although I love Pynchon's earlier work, Vineland and this latest book, Mason and Dixon (a much difficult read, and I have read very little of it frankly.) leave a lot to be desired. Vineland kicked its own ashes down the road as far as I am concerned, a pale shimmer of past literary glory, this book. Mason and Dixon is something altogether different. Written in Olde Englische, I don't know if it's worth the read or not. But for now it remains on my shelf, a gift from Sue, barely opened.
Don't use Netscape, eh? Which browser DO you use? Tell me about your computer, if you've a mind to go there. I work from a Power Macintosh, of course, an 8500/120, but I hope to upgrade to a G-3 soon. Anywaze, it's been fun chatting widja . . . keep it cool, and we'll just play this mystery, word by word. As some unknown poet wrote some time ago, twig by twig we build a language. That reminds me, my mother wants to discuss a poem I just had published, but one I had written a while ago. She's a 63 year old junior at Oglethorpre University in Atlanta, down in the state of Georgia, so go figure. She loves school, and has never been happier in her life! She studied Nietzsche this past quarter and now feels driven to discuss a poem with me, so I suppose I must oblige her. I've got to write her now, so tiddly widdly, until the next time we meet, Olivia, just call me...
Gave up momentarily on the ISDN chase. Nobody in DC knows a damned thing, but as I predicted somewhere long ago while tucked between the page 3 girl's left and right tit, all would never never be well in the Power Mac ghetto. Sue gabbed half an hour with Apple last night, leaving her miffed and sexist. She absolutely HATES talking to female tech support. Says they are snotty, know nothing, airheads on ice. Well, okay, Sue wasn't as colorful, but you get the drift. I tell her that I have experienced male support just as pitiful, but seem to get along splendidly with the online gash (uh, Bukowski's word). Although I recall a ClarkNET Sally who was a pile of ketchup beans. Is there, uh, something here the professional anti-sexism radicals are missing in this delighful picture? All I know is we know what works for us...
Meanwhile she is taking the CPU into her office this morning to check it against other monitors. The CPU light came on last night but the monitor did nothing, yet all suspicion rests with the CPU she and Apple are saying. SHIT, more delays, lemons and apples, go figure...
Will keep you updated. That huge monitor is awesome looking on the new table we bought. But of course RAM is nowhere in sight until we get this Mac up and running. Guess that's what I get for trying to save eleven hundred bucks...
Were you expecting more dope on Bukowski? Sorry, Charlie. No more tuna on this channel. Catch me on the flip flip.
Notes is a bust, can't find a use for it, but I guess before I'll ever get around to affording Director 5, Avid VideoShop is a decent start, so again, rather than webbing I was reading for pleasure this afternoon. Like Tom Howell once said to me, "Any fool can spend money...." Most interesting concept, hiding as it was in his mouth. Little green apples...
What I'm concerned about right now is the olfactory packaging assault. Hardware and literature needs no sniffing, but aromatically introduces itself with gusto to the nostrils as soon as the box and ever more powerfully when the plastic wrapping is unfurled. Taking delivery on new hardware is absolutely a fresh breeze in the nostrils. The absence of the 1710AV display undercuts what would surely be some sort of full frontal euphoria though. A call to Apple just now netted me nothing more than what I already knew. Two more weeks may pass before all the backorders are filled. Or then again it may show up tomorrow. Credit card is billed as each portion of the order is shipped.
According to the set-up manual the 8500 is shipped with voice recognition software enabling user-scripted commands to perform tasks as well as rendering responsive feedback from the Mac itself. Uhmmm...wonder how well that will work out of the box; I have my suspicions...
We are exactly the same, me and that bum. We are both messed up because we cannot control the nature of need nor the nature of corruption. Life is the mathematical ratio of one to the other.
When at Microcenter I did ogle over a 200mhz Performa that spoke the application names when the mouse passed over them, but I was completely ignorant that the Mac had voice recognition capabilities already out on the 8500/120...
I do believe I'm gonna get a kick out of wearing the QuickTime movie producer's cap. All that video footage collecting dustbunnies will finally serve a purpose as I push to integrate multimedia into the iMote core premise: the cult of personality exposed for what it truly is, nothing more than reality itself. Understatement and pomposity explored from the historical and futuristic prespectives. The perilous dichotomy explained as the everbroadening gulf between inexplicable social aloofness and seamless integration into the fabric of worldly imperative.
From Jesus to Debord (did I mention Bracken confessed last week when forced into the corner of my argument that among some dissenters Debord is ridiculed as just another Jesuit poseur?) I wish to stake a claim for what ails the world in general and will use the tracks of classicism to upbraid the apostles of the classes. I believe I have been laying in the groundwork, and now I have nearly all the tools of production.
Is premature death or irrepressible riotous living the only two acts separating me from my destiny, or am I merely a hollow shell of a pretender? That is the test I have always dared to wait while all the pieces are gathered onto the board (bored?). I have seen the enemy, and the enemy is us, to borrow a phrase. Like I have said to Bracken in several a lucid moment, revolutions are a dime a dozen. If it ain't the bum on the street asking for a dime, it's me asking for a dollar twenty. We are exactly the same, me and that bum. We are both messed up because we cannot control the nature of need nor the nature of corruption. Life is the mathematical ratio of one to the other.
So to quote YAST, of course ripe in a rebellion of his own with SAST...
Let's Mac on! dudes and dudettes! Or is that more properly put, LET'S MAC ON DISKS AND DISKETTES?
Space, well I blew into your account, and probably left a mess of mousedroppings all over the place. On the upside, I only spent 5-8 minutes in the CORE therefore billable areas. The remainder of the time I browsed through the 14,400 kps & Macintosh 3.1 software nodes, but let me give you a rundown on what I did & why.
First I stole into the BBM, found it dormant as relating to the 1996 season. From there I peeked into your mailbox where I found the note I sent earlier in the day after my own service provider's E-mail system had been down for over 36 hours. The note is somewhat dated because I went ahead and plunged into your pool, testing the waters, and discovered that s-t-u-p-i-d does not work with your secondary account numbers. But that was no problem. It's just the E-mail (i.e. CCGS84C, or whatever) address that we need to try and reestablish a web site with GeoCities. If I go ahead and try to homestead another GeoCities sports site for our mutual fun, and there's no code breakdown like the last time, then all you'll have to do is check your auxiliary mailbox (C, I reckon, since I recall you used C for your AL BBM persona a couple of years ago) and retrieve the GeoCities password they will provide so that I can access the site I establish.
That said, I then began to plunder. Caught in a flaw and a flipflop of Prodigy software I found myself locked into a scheme where I was forced to choose a local 14,400 bps access number. I had intended only to research the numbers, write them down for future reference (which I did) and exit. but on this particular screen I could not exit without leaving what I'll embarrassingly call mouse droppings. Actually I suspect that you won't be affected by this maneuver of mine since Prodigy wrote over its pref files on my harddrive. In fact I think I have done this before, and it just hasn't worked properly. When I dial up, the screen says I am connecting at 14,400 but by the time I am fully connected, a message pops up saying I am logged in at 2400, and shucks ain't there a world of difference in those two speeds!
After I escaped that crises, I ventured over into another free zone hawking the new Macintosh software v3.1. Now that I've left the scene of the crime I think I am indeed already running that version on my machine, but Prodigy being as lame as it is, left no records of its version number on its software as is traditional in the Mac environment. so I'm not able to verify yea or nay. So the saga continues as I choose rather than taking ninety minutes to download the code at the sluggish 2400 baud rate I would simply have them mail it to me. When I clicked that button I was confronted with the standard Prodigy order form which of course had your personal information already filled in, albeit the data was Jersey cold.
So I hacked myself and my vitals over your own, and pronto, I should receive in 2-3 weeks some dead software I am probably already running. Sorry I've greeted your generosity with all this technobabble. You should come out unblemished, but I just wanted to put these events on record just in case you step into quicksand the next time you try to log-on.
"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""