Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Monday, August 26, 2002

Stray Thoughts

Why, yes, yes I am STILL awake.

Spent most of the weekend with the Esoteric one. Lots of running around (okay, they ran, I limped and staggered and trudged a lot), food, movies, computer babbles.

Harley keeps leaping onto the back of the futon and staring at the back of my head. I don't really want to know.

Wow. I could actually hear the vacuum sucking the last remaining brain cells out in a glorious eruption of Brain Fartitis. Whooooosh!

Harley thinks it's fun to leap onto the table, then leap to my computer tray, then leap past me to the futon. She's also staring at the ceiiling again.

Things are up. They ain't awake, but they're up.

So why is everyone but me eating breakfast? I need a better slave, mine seems to be broken.

There goes Harley again. Boingy. Boingy. Boingy. The world is freaking Harley out.

Boingy! Almost right into the syrupy waffle plate of Thing 1. That would have been Bad.

WHOOOSH BOINGY BOINGY. Christ, Harley's turned into a gas molecule.

Thing 2 is sitting, um, mostly upside down in the computer chair. I seriously doubt that's going to help her wake up.

BOINGY! Ceiling looked at Harley funny, now she has to Make It Dead. I keep picturing the cartoon where the dog keeps sneaking up on the cat and barking, and then they have to pry poor Claude out of the ceiling. Instantaneous cat levitation. Harley is practicing it now.

Thing 2 is still upside down.

Black hole.


Dude, what is this "morning" crap and why the hell am I experiencing it from the wrong side of consciousness?

Boingy. That one almost clipped my ear, kinda like the arrows and Elrond at the beginning of LotR. WHOOSH.

Oh look, breakfast. I guess I'll keep him after all.

Zamboni is staring wistfully at the place where Thing 1's waffle plate used to be. We've had that experience, and I have no urge to repeat it. Cat looked like a feckin cactus, his tail and butt all covered with syrup bits and EVERYTHING else he came in contact with. Coulda used him as flypaper. And boy, did he yowl when DG had to bathe him.


He burned the toast. What is up with that?

Moooom, Harley's doing it again!!!!!!!

Whaff fis? Wha ... whaff fis? Fere is food in my mouf. Whaf fis?

No. I mean it. No. Okay, well, maybe.

Brraaaaaaaap! Guilty!

Tuesday, August 20, 2002

Nerd Alert

Pooka: Uh. ::whoosh, black hole, this is the sound of everything on the list being consumed in a fiery brain fart::

Dax: Oh oh oh! Can I have one of those?!?! It would be great to have at least a couple a day at work. That's the great thing about the military sometimes. You can get away with not thinking for hours before people catch on.

Pooka: I still don't get the whole Gandalf breakdancing on his head scene.

Dax: Because we would turn him into a toad and shove a magic missle up his ass ... but this was suppose to be a pseudo-family movie.

Pooka: ::mope:: Yeah, and WE would have used grenade launchers on snipers.

Dax: They did just fine with the snipers, actually. :Grins, then cracks up: Actually, that would make a great cartoon. Aragorn with a grenade launcher, looking at a pissed Legolas, the caption reading "Sorry man, but you just became obsolete."

HP - 0 Pooka - 1

I just got an Error Message Report notifying me that the Error Message Report had an error, which it wanted to report.

Nemesis has given up on subtle and has launched an open campaign to drive me screaming off the deep end.

::CROWS louder than any Lost Boy::

"If you receive this error message randomly, or when you try to start a program, remove extra memory or have the random access memory (RAM) in your computer tested. This behavior may occur if you have bad RAM."


Fuck you, Compaq techs.

Yipe. Had a Tarin moment going on there. Next thing you know, I'll be shouting "Ain't I good? Told ya I'm good!" at a room full of illusionary people.

Hunted down that damned blue screen error message, turned off the reboot, wrote the first error I got down.

Bad RAM.

I mentioned this repeatedly, but figured it wasn't applicable since I hadn't added any new RAM.

Too bad it was fucked straight from the factory.

Phone calls begin again tomorrow. With a vengeance.

UPDATE: Got three more errors. Curiously enough ....

"STOP 0x0000001a (0x00041284, 0xca9a2000, 0x000077e0, 0xc0c00000) MEMORY_MANAGEMENT

STOP 0x0000004e (0x00000007, 0x00007abf, 0x0000f17e, 0x00000000)PFN_LIST_CORRUPT

STOP 0x00000050 (0xc2332b94, 0x00000000, 0x00000000, 0x00000000)PAGE_FAULT_IN_NONPAGED_AREA

This behavior can occur when the random-access memory (RAM) on your computer has become corrupt."

And, more curiously ... HP/Compaq support is truly and utterly clueless. DG, I hope you're up to getting on the phone and barking at some folks, I still don't have my voice back.

Hey, speaking of RAM, does anyone know if DDR memory has a particularly short lifespan? Not as a known issue, per se, but via experience? Klash keeps getting DDR sticks eaten, and this machine apparently came with a bad one.

Harum. Growf.

Monday, August 19, 2002


Ever hear a Maine Coon complain?

They do it so well. And loudly.

Siamese have a thing about the weird voice as well. The two breeds have relatively distinctive sounds.

Zam walked over towards the door, cocked his head. Looked confused.

Turned around.

"MREOOOW? Mroooooooooow. Mrow. MREEEEOOOOOOOOW."

Walked around a bit more. Stopped and MREOOOW?d at the floor.

Then at the ceiling.

The Mother Ship has been trying to communicate again, only, Zamboni seems to have his wires crossed.

I want a salad. A big Olive Garden salad.


Why is Harley sitting on the table, staring at me?

Or is she staring at the scary thing only cats can see that's lurking behind me, waiting to ...

Uh. Harley? You can stop that now.

But it looks so CUTE ... so long as you don't look into her ... eyes.

Yeeeees maaaaaster ....

Friday, August 16, 2002

HP Technical "Support"

Complete wipe of the drive with a tech on the phone. Drive is completely empty.

Total reformat, all disks present.

Final boot.

There is no sound. Check. Sound card has the big yellow circle with the !.


Uninstall. Install hardware. Get a failure, not found. Hmm.

Reboot. Same thing.

Call tech support.

Remove the (!) again. Add via another method.

Driver not found.


No sound.

Hear tech flee for his life. Endure hold music. For a long time.

Contemplate axe.

Kick self for not buying a @*!*#$# Macintosh.

Be told that I have to use the Application Recovery CD.

Prepare to award a new "Unclear on the Concept" award.

Try to explain that, right out of the box, very first boot, There Was No Sound Card. In place was happy (!).

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that, out of the box, nothing says that you have to individually install sound card drivers later. Point out that paperwork says no disk needed, just plug in and answer the questions. Point out that, should this extra step be required, it should be mentioned in the "Start Here -- Now you're ready!" paperwork.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that RECOVERY is generally a Bad Thing, and means that Something Is Wrong, requiring it to be recovered. Point out that Out of the Box should not automatically have something wrong. Point out that this is not mentioned anywhere -- again -- that you should have to do this.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that, yes, you realize this, having mastered the skills of reading both the English language and the instruction sheets. Point out that yes, you looked at every piece of paper and every disk before ever turning machine on. Point out that you are well aware of what RECOVERY means, and that it implies a Bad Thing. Point out that still, despite the instructions, out of the box meant no sound card. Ask, politely, why this is not covered in documention.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Question as to whether or not he got his tech certification as a K-Mart Blue Light Special. Point out, ever so politely, that you will offer them the choice of a cyanide pill with a hemlock cocktail to wash it down for a clean death, as opposed to what you will do once you cheerfully volunteer to help them reprogram their entire service center with plastic explosives.

Be told that the computer should not do what it did, and that he has no understanding of why it happened.

Point out for the fifth time that despite what it isn't supposed to do, that it did it anyway. Twice. Twice squared. Point out that, next time, should there prove to be a next time, you will never ever ever buy their brand of computer again. Point out that if they insist on delivering products that are disfunctional right out of the box, that you will recommend their need for therapy to the BBB.

Point out to self, once realizing that he is truly Unclear on the Concept, that next time, you really will buy a Macintosh and save the headache.

.... would it help if I got out and pushed?

Computer has officially been named.


Wednesday, August 14, 2002

Resident Evils, or ...

... am I dead yet?

My voice sounds like a foghorn.

If you've seen 'Resident Evil,' (and even if you haven't, this is relevant) you'll know that it follows a somewhat traditional Romero approach to zombies: get infected, you die, you get back up. Injuries inflicted by zombies turn you into one eventually.

/Brain tangent: comparison of Zombification to Ebola and the other filoviruses. Even in death, the virus causing each is deadly and can spread to others. Both stay "hot" for a long time after the death of the host. In Ebola's case, though, once the host dies, the chance of infection is limited to those that come in contact with the body's fluids. By killing the host, it kills the chance to spread. The T-virus for RE also kills the host. Unfortunately, the host gets right back up again to cheerfully spread to anything the host attacks.

"Becomes" the virus. Phrase that easily applies to both the filoviruses and zombification viruses. By the time they kill you, the virus has replicated so many times that no part of the body is untouched, and any and every contact is a chance to spread infection. Groovy.

/end tangent.

So. Character gets chomped, goes through process towards death and zombiedom.

I look like that right now. Then again, I pretty much feel like that as well. I *think* I slept, in between fever delusions and bouts of painful coughing that were so intense that even Felimid avoided my side of the bed instead of snuggling. Pooka the Undead, just before going off to chomp and infect someone else. I got it easy, all I have to do is cough on them.

Thing 1 goes to school, tummy hurts, barfs dramatically and is sent home. This is how I started a few days ago, so it's not a good sign.

Thing 2 went to school and turned into Clark Kent. All she needs now is the dorky glasses. Yes, Thing 2 poofed into the meek and mild-mannered alter ego the minute she got to class, lasting until DG had her home and in the house.

Both Thing 2 and the teacher survived their first day together. Me, I'm thinkin it's all a setup, lulling the teacher into a false sense of security.

At least Thing 2 said that she wanted to go back tomorrow.

Watched Daria after the Dax-man left last night (prior to which was just weirdness squared). If only it didn't have all the funky Noggin filler in commercials. Yuck. Noticed that the show I caught early repeated at midnight. Till then, hadn't even known it was on other than at midnight. Sure enough, 9 and 9:30. Hot damn.

Saw somewhere that they were finally going to release more Daria to video. Bout time.

"If tinwhistles are made out of tin, what do they make foghorns out of?"

AaaaOOOOOOOOOgah! Dive, dive, dive!

Tuesday, August 13, 2002


You know your fever is going up when ....

... your food has tracers.

... you find yourself dancing to the end-theme to Daria -- after the credits are over.

... "it wasn't that kind of goat" sends you into what should be helpless giggles, only it comes out in a strangled pathetic croak and scares off the cat.

... what was I saying?

... you STILL don't understand the whole "men in feather boas" thing.

... there is this ... thing ... in your face, and you can't quite figure it out and it won't go away and you swat at it but it doesn't move and it's in your face and won't go away and you move and it moves and you dodge and it dodges and you swing at it and it's still there and so you try to yank it away AND SONOFABITCH THAT WAS MY HAIR AND THAT HURT!!!!!!

Alien Death Plague


Not just any kind of sick, either. Sick sick. As Opal would say, Alien Death Plague sick.

First bronchitis of the season, and, more surprisingly, my first time of being this type of sick in over a year.

It's amazing what having your tonsils removed again can do for you. For the new folks, yes, I did say again. Had em taken out when I was 18 months old (sounds WAY too young, but it was desperate), and again some 30+ years later. Yes, they've been known to grow back, but the theory in my case is that since it was so long ago, the procedure wasn't as efficient and they missed a piece.

So, when I got terrifyingly sick with strep and several other goodies and ended up in the ER to get shots so my throat didn't close entirely, the bug moved in to stay. Nine solid non-stop months of severe tonsilitis, four cases of strep, and a thousand dollars or more of antibiotics later, back to the hospital I went.

Took another two years or so for the chronic death plague to fade, and then I made it through last winter without ever catching the flu. My immune system is not particularly cooperative, and I can catch a virus if it winks at me from across the state line, so this was impressive.

Started sneezing a lot, hard, about a week ago. A few days later, because I have trouble fighting things off, the cough set in.

Today, I croak in a voice that the love child of Demi Moore and Barry White would envy, I'm running glorious amounts of fever, I'm shaking, and I hurt. Coughing up icky things for those of you that thrive on TMI.

Sleep? Who's that?

My baby, little Thing 2, starts kindergarten tomorrow.

My baby. Baby no more. Two kids in school.

Can't decide if I should celebrate or mourn the passing of my baby into child.

But I'm damn grateful that being sick held off until this point.

Nurse, I'd like another gallon of NyQuil, thank you. And while you're fluffing my pillow, feel free to smother me with it and be done with the whole mess.