El Gringoqueño

All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Page 33 of 51

Coffee Bean Oil: Nonstick Coating

I discovered this a while ago, but I wanted to share my technique.  It all started the first time I roasted coffee in a frying pan.  My frying pan happens to be of the anodized aluminum variety ala Calphalon.  It’s a great pan, but its biggest drawback is stick-age.  You cannot fry an egg without Pam or copious quantities of oil.  Seasoning as per the manufacturer’s instructions?  Bah! I’m a guy.  I never read instructions.

But I found a truly great non-stick coating that is slicker than Teflon or Silverstone, better than Pam and is persistent: coffee bean oil.

coffee_roasting.jpg

Roast raw coffee beans (green coffee beans) on a medium to high heat with fifteen minutes of constant agitation or stirring.  The result: the best coffee you will ever drink and your pan now has a beautiful persistent sheen of oil that seems to form a nice molecular bond with the pan.   I haven’t tried it with cast iron, but I would imagine it would work the same.

Now, I can make wafer thin french omelets and flip them with impunity.

To preserve my Coffee Bean Non-Stick CoatingTM I use the Chinese wok cleaning method, water and some sort of gentle scraper, no soap, rinse, and dry.  The pan does not retain any residue from whatever I cook in it and all the stuck-on stuff sloughs off easily.   If we do Puerto Rican rice dishes, the pega’o or stuck stuff on the bottom, is the crunchiest most wonderful part of the dish, all thanks to roasting coffee como un campesino.

So far, for me, this method far outstrips all other seasoning tips that come from various sources.

Who Owns Your Rights?

From the Fourteenth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States

No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

From the Declaration of Independence of the United States

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. –That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,

Why do I bring this up?  Recently the debate has been raging about what rights are afforded to undocumented workers or illegal immigrants, sometimes inhumanely referred to as “illegals.”  The heart of the debate, if it can be said to have one at all, is that only citizens are afforded the rights protected by the Constitution.

If you are not a citizen, then you are out of luck.

The power of the Constitution comes neither from the government itself nor the People.  James Madison seems to agree with me.

“Because if . . . [An Unalienable Natural Right of Free Men] . . . be exempt from the authority of the Society at large, still less can it be subject to that of the Legislative Body. The latter are but the creatures and vicegerents of the former. Their jurisdiction is both derivative and limited: It is limited with regard to the coordinate departments, more necessarily is it limited with regard to the constituents. The preservation of a free Government requires, not merely, that the metes and bounds which separate each department of power be invariably maintained: but more especially that neither of them be suffered to overleap the greater Barrier which defends the rights of the people. The Rulers who are guilty of such an encroachment, exceed the commission from which they derive their authority, and are Tyrants. The people who submit to it are governed by laws made neither by themselves nor by an authority derived from them, and are Slaves — James Madison, June 1785.

What he is saying is that the People are capricious, and since the government is an extension of the people then it too is capricious.  It [the government] cannot be trusted with our most important gifts of creation.

I think some clue to the whole puzzle of where our rights come from, how they apply, and to whom they apply is contained in the Declaration of Independence.  “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights…”  Unalienable: non-transferable, unable to destroy, eradicate, or remove.  That is to say, if you are human you have these rights whether you want them or not and no one can legally take them away.  Of course if someone uses force to subject you, no legal order gives them authority, and we the People of the United States with the authority of the Constitution, shall protect you and restore to you your proper rights.

The Declaration of Independence, in my mind, can be seen as the spirit under which was formed the whole of our union.  It was the mission statement, frame of reference, or inspiration from which all the founding documents flowed.

These rights we have as a person are in all ways incontrovertible.  The mention of a Creator, I believe, is simply an acknowledgment of “other than the ways of men.”  It could have easily said, “You, by the fact of your birth in the Universe, have the following rights, none of which is granted to you by us, our representatives, or their agents.”  We the government are not the authority giving  you these rights, we the government of the people simply acknowledge them and pledge to protect them from others that would seek to subvert these rights.

In short, we didn’t invent these rights, we just protect them.

It bears mentioning again.  The government IS NOT the authority for your rights as a human being.  It took a while, but the fourteenth amendment to the Constitution is the part that finally spelled it out.  We’d spent nearly a century assuming, but no longer, the XIV was going to nail it down with railroad spikes.  Let there by no doubt.  “…nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

There is no distinction there for citizen/non-citizen.  We the people of the United States recognize that the rights of man are not beholden to the whimsy of the public or the government.  The People and by its extension, the government, have no authority to grant, rescind, or amend these rights.

Again, the Constitution and the government and its laws protect these rights but neither grant them nor bestow them.

The next time you hear some shill talking about the Constitution not protecting illegal immigrants or granting to us something it does not grant to them, be wary, for if the Constitution has the power to NOT grant rights to those other people, than from where does the authority for your rights come?  The Constitution?  I don’t think so.

To keep these rights from illegal immigrants is to subvert your own rights.  I don’t know about you, but MY rights do not come from the Constitution.  The Constitution simply exhorts you/us to protect these rights that are bestowed upon us by “other than man.”  You have them because you exist.

To fight for the rights of illegal immigrants is to fight for your very own rights.  I, for one, have no interest in granting authority for my liberty to the US Government.  I hold it on my own as a person.  The People have pledged to protect those rights whether you be natural born or an alien, for it is the people we are, a people who love liberty, a people who wish for none to be subjugated under the unlawful heel of tyranny or injustice.

Unalienable rights apply everywhere in the world in all nations, but it is only within our borders that they are protected by the Consitution.  It is only here where we have the authority to enforce these rights as a people.  The day that we apply a different standard to visitors, tourists, people of other nations living in working in America than we apply to our own citizens is the day that we subvert the true intent of the Constitution.

Alexander’s Got a Week to Live

At least that’s what I hypothesized while trying to get him to figure out what he wanted out of life.

"Alexander, say you’ve got a week to live. What are you going do?"

"Um, I’ll get out of here?"

"Yes," I answered and snapped my fingers, "You’re out of prison."

"Well, I guess I’d ask God for forgiveness for my sins."

"Done and done. You’re already forgiven. Don’t waste any time asking for forgiveness. It’s already been done, and your life was given back to you. You’ve got a week left. What do you do?"

Alexander looked at me like I had just said the most ridiculous thing ever.  Look, he seemed to say, you tell me I have a week left, I tell you I want to be on my knees asking forgiveness for my sins – the best possible answer, mind you, and you throw it back in my face.  What kind of chaplain are you anyway? 

I’m the kind of chaplain who thinks that living on your knees is a waste, and besides it’s hard on your knees.  It’s a sin against your knees, and God doesn’t want that. 

Alexander considered his fate for a moment.

"Um, I guess I’d be with my mother and father. They’ve been so good to me. I’d spend my last week with them."

"Ah, so with your last week of life on this earth, you’d be seeking more than love – you’d be seeking to love. You wouldn’t be looking for amor, you’d be seeking to amar. Amen I say to you, brother."

We talked about other things for a while. Alexander likes boxing and Burger King bacon double hamburgers. In fact, he loves them so much he has his parents sneak them to him during visitation. I got a real kick out of that. We chatted about a fight he got into recently. Some older bigger kid poured shampoo on his cot and threw his clothes in the toilet. Just like high school, I remarked. Alexander got up in the guy’s face and got a couple of good licks in before the guards broke it up. Alexander said it didn’t matter anyway, because as he recounted to me with pride, he was already going to the maximum security facility.

"So, let’s return to the question: What do you want out of life? What about if I gave you 80 years. What would you do with your life? I give you a million dollars and 80 years. What’s next."

"Well, I um, I don’t know."

"Let’s just say that it’s okay to buy bling, a nice house, have a beautiful girlfriend, a great music system, lots of parties, a pool, and beautiful view. You can get all that in a month. By my calculation, that leaves 79 years 11 month. Now what’s next."

"I dunno, enjoy myself, pasarlo todo tranquilo."

"Alexander, how come when you have a week left you’ve got a clear idea of what you should be doing, but I give you 80 and you squander it?"

I reflect this week how easy it is to become a glutton. Give me more of it, I say, I want to live longer, better, and with more things. Do I realize what it’s for?

I ask you, who stuff your faces at the banquet, for what do you want it?

Figure it out before you come back for seconds, please.

My Fellow Americans…

No American president has ever said this, and no American president ever will.  Because I am impatient, I shall invent one who does. 

My fellow Americans, I stand before you today, not as your president, not as the Commander in Chief, but as your dear friend, your best friend who really cares about you and must tell you something you do not want to hear.  I will say it here today, because and only because I care deeply about America.

I stand here as someone who must remind us all today what it means to be American.  If you will permit me into your living rooms, I shall speak my piece and take the consequences as they may befall me.  I have kept quiet long enough.  It is time that we heard the truth about what it means to be an American.

But first, let me dispel some myths. 

It is NOT our language of English.  It is not our culture, whatever that means.  It not whiteness, blackness, latin-ness, chinese-ness, or any other -ness.  We are not American because we drive big cars or trucks.  We are not Americans because we love to buy.  We are most certainly NOT American because we shop at Wal-mart.  We are not American by virtue of keeping Mexicans from our shores, or waving the American flag, singing the national anthem, or pledging our allegiance.  I could go on.

Do I need to go on? 

The things that make us American are the intangibles, not how we look, or speak, nor what we have, acquire, or even what we build.   What makes us American, my fellow Americans, is the resolute fact that we have a willingness to fail, that we have the opportunity to fail.

To be an American means to risk failure, and to fail not once, or twice, but repeatedly.  Our failure rate, is directly proportional to our forward progress.  Show me someone adverse to risk and I will show you someone who has done nothing, and will never do anything.  He is happy, complacent, and content – content in his mediocrity.  He is a useless sort, and we do not want him here in America.

Unfortunately, we are beginning to grow more and more of these types right here on our own shores.  We are happy.  We have lots of nice things.  My fellow Americans, I have nice things.  You have nice things.   We enjoy a standard of living the far exceeds the majority of the world.  That is great and wonderful to be sure, but I see some slippage.  We, my fellow Americans, have become risk averse.  We ask that others assume the risk.  When others come and are willing to risk death, poverty, and discrimination, we malign them for they remind us of what we have lost.  It is our shame that causes us to call out to them, ‘Go home, you dirty immigrants,’  for we have forgotten our proud dirty immigrant past.  Shame on us.  Shame on me.

We shall not dishonor our ancestors in that fashion.  I shall not dishonor my ancestors in that fashion.

We Americans have lost the will to live, the hunger that made America great.   We have lost the willingness to put it all on the line.

What does this American president propose?  I will tell you.  I want immigrants that are fed up with tyranny, poverty, sickness, despots, corruption, death and mayhem to pack their bags and get to America.  Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.  Just get here.

And I do mean all of you.  No quotas, no limits, no restrictions.

I want these immigrants to come to our shores, for the opportunity to earn a living, working hard, and gaining a purpose in this life.  They are no longer cattle to be lead to a slaughter.  They are to be no longer seen as simply the listless masses upon whom tin-pot dictators reap their blessings in the form of death, persecution, and abject poverty.

We Americans see you, people of the world, as human capital.  Whereas others see you as drains on government pension funds, a lot to be taken care of or robbed or just a burden, we in America see your value.  You are not a drain, you are an asset. 

You are a national treasure.

And we have forgotten it, my fellow Americans, we have forgotten to treasure our immigrants.  I ask, can a person have too much treasure?

Every life that wants to produce, that wants to be useful, because that is all any of us could ever ask, shall have that opportunity right here, right here in this great immigrant land of ours.

I can hear it now, my fellow Americans, ‘They will bring down wages, they will subvert our way of life.  We cannot absorb so many.’ 

Historically Americans believed that economic progress and prosperity were a result of the free land to our west.  When things got tough, we opened up more land, and folks rolled up their sleeves, moved and worked that land to bring more riches to America.  The fact of free land was a compelling reason for Americans to believe our nation was wealthy.  I ask, however, what good is land without human hands to work it?  Franklin D. Roosevelt once said:

We are not able to invite the immigration from Europe to share our endless plenty. We are now providing a drab living for our own people.

Which is, of course, a logical fallacy and begs the question, why should we believe that immigrants come to share endless plenty.  That land could have lain bare for another thousand years without putting a single cent in a bank account, happily.   The immigrants were the source of that plenty during the years of westward expansion, for it was their hands that cultivated the soil, that shaped the landscape, and caused it to yield untold riches.  Immigrants come to create endless plenty.

It was immigrants, my fellow Americans.  They were the riches.

Let me address the former criticism of wages.  I hope immigrants do lower wages.  Lower wages get people off their couches.  Lower wages stimulate new thinking.  If we have to compete with lower wages, we have got to think of ways to cut costs, innovate, or fail. That’s the American way.  And two, I ask, what IS the American way if its not to re-purpose international assets to our benefit.   Let me paint a tiny picture of what I’m talking about. 

Say, I am an African dictator and I am robbing my people blind.  I am taxing what little they have to build myself palaces and buy cars and support my harems of women.  I am a small-minded fool and shall soon be parted from my wealth. 

Half my country then leaves.  They take up residence in America where that first generation works happily in menial labor jobs and earns more in a day than they did in a whole month or year in their country.  Fast forward to their children’s generation, educated, hard working, and born of a spirit that there are so many possibilities.  These people will take us to scientific greatness.  They will build better cars.  They will build better buildings.  They will become amazing educators, thinkers, business people, you name it.  They do not complain.  They do not whine.  They do not sue.  They are just thankful that they are not dying, starving in some nameless ditch in some forgotten land.  They wake up every day, thanking their god, that they have had this opportunity.  They revere their lives.  They revere our land.  They revere their kind neighbors.  This my friends, is paradise, an immigrant paradise.  All they need is a chance.

Meanwhile our little African dictator takes a peek from afar, sees the riches upon which he had sat and covered with excrement.  It was, in fact, a pile of gold, a pile of gold that far outstripped the production of even his biggest gold and diamond mines.  What was he thinking? A fool he is.

And what should we be thinking.  How can we NOT absorb such riches.  It is a windfall.  It is a boon.  We should dance and sing and make merry for our good fortune.  We seized half of a country’s riches and never had to fire a single bullet.  Genghis Khan would have been befuddled by such a brilliant scheme.

Is there ever too much good fortune?

So come here.  Come and bring to us your enthusiasm.  We will give you a chance to succeed.  We will give you a chance to fail.  But you can pick yourself up and try something else.  Because in America you make your own destiny as you see it.

And, my fellow Americans, they are going to make us uncomfortable.  Change is tough.  They will challenge our ideas.  I say then, we will get over it and we must stop whining.  We must learn from them – learn how we used to be and start taking risks, thankful for every single day that we have in this great land of ours.

I thank you for listening, my fellow Americans.

On Doubting Tomases

I’d like to lay it all out here.  Here it is in a nutshell, post Easter.  I’ve always been bugged by the whole scene in the Bible with Tomas the apostle, the poster-child of doubt and lack of faith.  I’ve always thought he got a bum rap.  My version would go like this:

"Dude, dude, we so totally saw Jesus today."

"What have you all been smoking.  And for Christ’s sake, take a bath, y’all smell."

"No, no, totally, Tom, we saw him, didn’t we Peter?"

"Yeah. And the girls saw him too."

"Hmm, okay.  Look, if it makes you feel better after having watched him be crucified and then locking yourselves in that room you call "the pad" for the last few weeks, that’s cool.  I’m glad you think you saw him or something."

"Aw, man, Tomas, thinks we’re lyin’.  He doesn’t BELIEVE.  He doesn’t believe.  He doesn’t believe."

"Now you’ve got too far, my brothers.  Look, whether he’s actually walking around or not is totally and in all ways irrelevant.  You all saw what he did.   You KNOW what he stood for.  He was the best.  We lived and studied and hung with him through thick and thin.  I KNOW who he is.  He’s right here.  I don’t need to see any bloody nail marks or spear wounds.  

I looked deep in my heart and I realized that I know him.  I know who he is.  I don’t need any more from him.  What more could I ask. 

You mistake my skepticism for lack of faith, but it’s not that.  It’s that I don’t really NEED anything more from him.  He already gave us everything.  He gave us purpose.  He showed us the way.  He died for us.  I know that man believed what he said – what he told us.  I know it.  I know him.  So don’t you assholes with your, ‘Oh, look Tomas doesn’t believe what his eyes don’t see,’ selves give me crap and ask for the Messiah to go around on your little puppet stings dancing through magic fairy dust for you to feel good about yourselves.  It is you who doubt.  It is you who look for magic signs and voices from the heavens and burning bushes.

Now, if I know Jesus, I know he just might oblige your puny minds with a heavy sigh.  ‘Oh, okay one more time for Peter’ and he’d wave his hand or something, but after, he probably ask you why you couldn’t be more like Tomas.  ‘Tomas didn’t make me do any miracles.  Tomas didn’t ask me to rise from the dead.  Y’all did, ’cause you needed it.’

A Deist’s Dream

Is it better to come upon a flower and to believe it was created for me, or to see the flower, know its blossom, and rejoice for I was there to see it.

Cookies are Capital

I: Jesus, my man, what do you have for us today?

J: I’m glad to see you’re loosening up a bit.  I’m just here during Holy Week to throw out a little bone for those of you into the whole worship thing.  While you’re all running around preparing for Good Friday and Easter, I’d like to reprise my last outing here.

I: The cookie one?

J: Yeah, the cookie one.  It seems that a few of you business types needed a change of vocabulary to get the cookie theme.  So I’m gonna hit from a different angle. 

Let pretend that cookies are capital.  I’m talking in economic terms now.  Cookies are capital.  I give you a cookie.  What are you going to do with it?

I: Um, eat it or share it?

J: Yes, but more to the point, you’re going to use the cookie for something.  The purpose of a cookie is easy to divine.  You are going to use the cookie for some purpose for which it was intended.  If it was a gift, you will say thank you and probably enjoy it.  You probably wouldn’t reply, ‘What the hell are you giving me this cookie for?  I didn’t ask for it.  What am I supposed to do with it?’  That’s just silly, right?

I: I guess.  That would be pretty stupid.  I mean, cookies are tasty.

J: Exactly what I’m saying!  Now what if you’re on a diet?  Do you have the right to get upset if I give you a cookie?

I: No, I think good manners would dictate that you would find something to do with the cookie if you weren’t going to eat it.

J: If you are a thoughtful person, you would show good manners. A gift is a gift.  You’re just not allowed to complain about gifts. 

So anyway, I hand you some capital.  I give you some money.  What are you going to do with it?  Bury it?  Hide it?  Preserve it in some way?  Make it last as long as possible?  If you know anything about money, you know it’s more valuable right now than it is in the future.  That’s why people pay interest rates to get it right now.  An interest rate represents the present value of future money.

People with a purpose for the dough will pay through the nose to get it right now so they can put it to good use and hopefully earn more than what they paid for it.

Now, say I just hand it to you.  I give you a non-taxable lump sum on the order of a couple million smackers.  What do you do with it?

I: Gosh, that’s such an improbable event, I’d not thought about it.

J: Not many people have, but I’ll tell you what; they should.  Capital is like your life.  If you don’t know what you’d do with it immediately, then you don’t know what you’re doing.  If you don’t know what you’re doing, then you’d better drop EVERYTHING and figure it out pretty damn quick.  Your investors are getting antsy ’cause you’re wasting the capital.  You’re wasting the cookie.  It’s getting moldy, and your capital is losing value to inflation.

Your life is a big pile of capital that needs to be used RIGHT NOW.  It’s most valuable RIGHT NOW.  It can only make a difference RIGHT NOW.

Notice a pattern?

I don’t think anyone would curse me for giving them a pile of capital.  Why do you think they get upset that they have a life? I know life is hard sometimes.  I really do know.  Yet, to have it is a blessing.  It is a grace bestowed for which you didn’t ask.  You don’t deserve it.  Whether you deserve the cookie, capital, or your life is irrelevant, totally and completely irrelevant.  What is relevant is that you’ve got something that few have, that few have the opportunity to use. There is a whole lot of life in the universe just busting to come out and live.  Not everyone has the opportunity you have right now. 

So, Mr. Business Guy, what is it gonna be?  Are you going to offend your biggest investor, ME?  Do you want put the capital to good use, or are you going to sit on it and fret.  Capital is not to be preserved, just as cookies are not to be kept under glass, and your life not lived in quiet seclusion far from danger.

Now get busy, Time is Money.  I don’t want to have to fire you. *wink*

DTOP Schenanegans Part Dos

The whole mess of fraudulent fines is blowing up here now.  The local paper is featuring the story and outrage on the front page.  Through the article, I learned that I can go online and check my driver’s record to see just what fines I supposedly owe.  Okay, cool, I’ll at least be able to see what they have fabricated for my fine-paying pleasure.

THEY DON’T EVEN SHOW THE SAME AMOUNT.

Let me repeat that.  The hard copy printed letter on paper, that had to come from somewhere, that had to be generated from something by someone, doesn’t even match what they have in their own database – not even close.

I knew criminals were stupid.

Supposedly, I was driving through red lights hours away in Mayaguez a week after 9/11.  DTOP shows a fine for $30 and no license plate number.  So apparently I was jogging through red lights on the other side of the Puerto Rico with my special jogging sneakers and super powers.  Luckily I had my license so that they could indicate the proper fine for flying through red lights with an invisible car or something.

BAH!  So where does the $120 come from?  I think they just made it up, pulled a number from their collective ass, and called out –

Hah, schenanegans on me.  You kidders you.

Gingerbread House

In orbit around the Earth, they were safe, safe and isolated from the depths of space by their craft, their suits, their technology.  They were safe from the vacuum, the cold, the radiation, and small chunks of debris. They were as safe and comfortable as in their kitchen sipping tea and reading the Times.  "Martha, will you fetch me some toast?  Thanks, you’re an angel."  Thanks to the wonderful technology of their deep space craft and its marvelous systems, designed by the finest minds of 22st century Earth and swaddled as they were in their cradles of poly-alloy something, they had not a care in the world.  Not a one.

"What was that?" Justin breathed into his helmet microphone.  "I think I heard something."

A voice responded.  It was helm control.  "I dunno," he whispered, as if asleep, "I think we’re approaching the outer atmosphere.  Sometimes the heat makes things creak."  At least it sounded like creak.  It could have been creep, or weak.  Justin couldn’t tell. 

"Um, okay."  It wasn’t important, he guessed.  The helmsman was a stout sort of fellow, predictable and faithful.  He always showed up on time, checked the craft, before launch.  He was a by-the-book sort not prone to imaginative thinking, but he did his job, which was good enough surely, and probably what you want in a helmsman.

Justin looked around at the relaxed forms of the other passengers.   They were scientists, like himself, but perhaps not like himself.  They were fascinated by things other than a little re-entry.  They obsessed over big problems or small problems, tiny little worlds or grand grandiose big big worlds.  Make the little worlds bigger, they’d say.  Make the big worlds smaller, would reply the others – two schools of thought, Justin reflected, two schools of thought that always end up in the same place.

Justin was awake now, and he couldn’t close his eyes.  The Earth was this big beautiful ball of blue, crystalline blue, shiny, reflective, shimmery, but calm, peaceful, enveloping.  It’s like you could just reach out and touch it, squeeze it, wrap it all around you, he thought, just roll around on it.  Man, he thought adjusting his poly-alloy something pants, been out here too long – getting turned on by this big blue ball in space.  Geez.

"Hey, Melinda," he whispered though the microphone, "did you get the data you were looking for?"

"Hmmm…  you talkin’ to me, Justin?  Yeah, yeah, I got what I was looking for.  Gracias a Dios. They were there just waiting for me.  I stepped around the corner and there they were as if they had chosen me.  The mission was un exito total." 

"I’m glad."  He had had no such luck.  His first opportunity out here had netted him nothing, nothing, and now that he thought about it, nothing.  Maybe when they got back, he’d see if maybe he could salvage at least something of this nothing of a trip.  "I’m glad for you Melinda.  Couldn’t have happened to a better person.  You know you’re the best."

"Thanks, Justin.  You’ll get something, soon, I’m sure."

There was that weak, creeping creak again, trickling over-head.  "There it is again?  Did you hear that?  What the hell is that sound?"

The whisper came again, "Look, it’s nothing to be worried about, the hull’s heating up.  It does that, uneven heating, causes uneven expansion, uneven compression.  It’s all taken care of.  Now, newbie, if you want to make yourself useful, lie back and close those big weepy eyes of yours.  I’ll get you back to your mama’s arms before you wet yourself, I promise." And he clicked off his mic.

To Justin, the break-up seemed almost in slow motion.  There was a shudder, and the pieces came off like big giant flakes of rust spinning out and away into the blackness their edges glowing faintly, discolored like the petals of a dying flower. 

And down they fell.

…to be continued

Screw Linux on the Desktop, I Used to be Productive

I don’t want my desktop all candified.  I don’t want media.  I don’t want games.  I don’t want music.  I don’t want VOIP.  I don’t want chat.  I don’t want digg, reddit, and slashdot.

ARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!

I used to be productive.  Now I have MAME to emulate all my favorite standup video games from the eighties and nineties (endless hours of fun).   I now have instant messaging, every manner of music, video, and entertainment imaginable (not to mention all that P2P goodness and without the spyware).  MythTV handles the PVR functions and let me tell you, it’s great. 

It’s too great.

The problem is, I need to do some friggin’ work on this computer.  I remember when the desktop was austere.  I was forced to work, not goof off watching stupid video clips from video.google.com or www.youtube.com

HEY YOU MEATHEADS stop messing with the desktop.  It’s too good.  It’s too distracting.  Firefox is too good.  There are too many great extensions.  Mplayer is the best media player on the planet.  Stop it, now! 

I need to do some WORK!

Please make my desktop the non-functioning piece of utilitarian crap that it was five years ago, please please please?

 

I beg you. 

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2026 El Gringoqueño

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑