after having this computer for 4 years or so, I'm finally getting around to loading my cds into the hard drive.
this involves going thru oodles of files downloaded from napster (back when it was, like, napster) that may or may not have been chopped off before completion. & gobs of obscure sound files. & about a weeks worth of old time radio drama. & much swearing at the computer.
anyway, I can now make mix cds.
yippee for me.
I'm pretty much one for making the mix TAPE--squattin' down on the floor by the boom box in a nest of coverless cds & empty beercans trying to make that last bit FIT, godamnit.
anyway, that's what I did today.
yesterday, I had to qualify again at work, which involves discharging various weapons at paper targets of the sillouette of a man reaching behind his back (or, in the case of the shotgun, a metal cutout of a man reaching behind his back welded to a barrel).
a couple of weeks ago at work an officer (a rookie) said, "I heard you don't own any guns."
there could be something incredibly ominous about this statement, but I didn't catch it at the time. I just said, "Yeah".
& thus I am seperated, fundamentally, from my community. I don't own any guns, & I'm probably the only (nominal) human within a 300-yard radius that doesn't.
anyway, despite being a bit shaky from too much coffee & nervousness, I put all the holes in the right places in the fake human.
this involves going thru oodles of files downloaded from napster (back when it was, like, napster) that may or may not have been chopped off before completion. & gobs of obscure sound files. & about a weeks worth of old time radio drama. & much swearing at the computer.
anyway, I can now make mix cds.
yippee for me.
I'm pretty much one for making the mix TAPE--squattin' down on the floor by the boom box in a nest of coverless cds & empty beercans trying to make that last bit FIT, godamnit.
anyway, that's what I did today.
yesterday, I had to qualify again at work, which involves discharging various weapons at paper targets of the sillouette of a man reaching behind his back (or, in the case of the shotgun, a metal cutout of a man reaching behind his back welded to a barrel).
a couple of weeks ago at work an officer (a rookie) said, "I heard you don't own any guns."
there could be something incredibly ominous about this statement, but I didn't catch it at the time. I just said, "Yeah".
& thus I am seperated, fundamentally, from my community. I don't own any guns, & I'm probably the only (nominal) human within a 300-yard radius that doesn't.
anyway, despite being a bit shaky from too much coffee & nervousness, I put all the holes in the right places in the fake human.