Ackery

Damn You, Blinky!!!

One of D's Christmas presents from my sister was a wireless joystick that, when plugged into the TV, allows you to play the classic videogames of yore. It is all very straightforward -- there is a big button, a little button, and a joystick, and this is good, because the videogame controllers of today scare the bejeebers out of us. We are a simple people, and while we don't object to videogames with gratuitous sex and violence, we are morally opposed to lots of buttons.

Now, of course, I've been sucked back into my long-standing love for Ms. Pacman, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to accomplish anything ever again, at least not until I clear the banana screen.

Because I cannot work out to Journey any longer.

After much deliberation, and helpful comments from my faithful readers, who I love to itty-bitty-bits, I have decided that I will meekly requesting money towards the purchase of a Nano for my birthday. I'm a little worried that I will look too trendy, but I can no longer listen to the soft rock at the health club and watch Shrub smirk his smirky smirk in closed-captioning while I try to convince myself that sixty seconds more on the elliptical will not send me to an early grave. Something's gotta give, and I fear that it is my ability to resist the lure of the SHINY SHINY ELECTRONICS.

D is still unconvinced that an iPod is the best choice for us, stereo-wise, and as several people have pointed out, the iPod is both bulky (although bulky here is clearly a relative term) and prone to a skippy hard drive, which could annoy me no end. Also, Jay-Dub, my very own advance team on all fronts technological (No, he doesn't blog. Yes, he should.) sent me this link. As I have a terrible habit of not checking pockets when I sort laundry, this seems like fate. If, you know, fate dabbled in consumer electronics.

A frillion thanks to everyone who made suggestions, particularly those geekish in nature, because geekery makes my heart go pitter-pat. Truly it does. And now I am off to frog the front of the Thinking Dress. I have procrastinated enough.

He is forgiven for not bringing home salsa last night.

There are things that I hate hate hate to talk about, and chief among those things is money. Pretty much, unless we're talking about how I've won the lottery and it's tax free, I would really prefer to discuss pleasant, non-controversial topics. Palestinian statehood, for example. Euthanasia. Election 2000.

And yet, I managed to marry a man who, very early in our courtship, gave himself the nickname "El Cheapo." So you can imagine how fun our money talks are. Mostly, they go like this:

D: We need to talk about money.
E: What? Huh? La-la-la-la-la! Look, honey! It's Elvis!
D: Um, yeah. We're still gonna talk about money.
E: Did I tell you? Ellie did the cutest thing today!
D: This is not working.
E: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

And yet, my boy has worked his El Cheapo mojo, because in his quest to lower our phone bill(s), he has managed to get me: a spiffy new cell phone with actual minutes, some amazing savings on our regular phone service, and...and...

Oh, God. I'm not sure I can say the words. The letters. Will I jinx it? It is like a dream come true, I tell you. Yea, verily. A dream.

DSL.

I feel a little faint. I will have DSL. Me. The geekiest girl in all of Lake County. The Internets (there are so many, you know) will be at my disposal whenever I want. And they shall be speedy, the Internets. And they shall not tie up my phone line for hours at a time.

It is almost enough to make me talk money. But not quite.

Victory is mine, sayeth the geek.

I'm sure this does not particularly earn me a lot of geek street cred (Do geeks have street cred? Or lab cred? Hmn.), but at long last, I have gotten my Realplayer tracks up and running again. In the end, all I had to do was buy a new computer.

In other technews, I gotta give a big ol' shout out to the lovely and talented Joelle. As you can see, she does quality work, and she's damn fast. So, if you're looking for a blog, check out her and the rest of the Moxie girls . (Yes, Uncle Jeffy, I'm looking at you.)