Selfish Gene (track 07 from the eponymous LP)
→ “Selfish Gene” Song Lyrics
Somebody’s Saturday Night (track 09 from the eponymous LP)
→ “Somebody’s Saturday Night” Song Lyrics
Bob is Not Your Uncle Anymore (track 03 from the eponymous LP)
→ “Bob is Not Your Uncle Anymore” Song Lyrics
Really, who needs new Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck cartoons when you have the Disney Super Buddies ? From left to right, top to bottom, we have Rosebud, Budderball, Buddha, Mudbud, and B-Dawg. (Apparently, the sixth super buddy, Budweiser, a womanizing golden retriever with a substance abuse problem, didn’t make the final cut.)
Perhaps it goes without saying, but I would rather dance barefoot on broken shards of glass than watch this movie. Pluck out my toenails with needle-nose pliers—please!—if that’s what it takes to keep this garbage as far away from me as possible.
Also, I’m not 100% on this, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of movies like Super Buddies why some fathers become raging alcoholics.
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.
“Which is it to-day?” I asked,—”morphine or cocaine?”
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. “It is cocaine,” he said,—”a seven-per-cent. solution. Would you care to try it?”
“No, indeed,” I answered, brusquely. “My constitution has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it.”
He smiled at my vehemence. “Perhaps you are right, Watson,” he said. “I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment.”
“But consider!” I said, earnestly. “Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable.”
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation.
“My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession,—or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.”
Sometimes, when you buy a new monitor from Dell, it doesn’t power on. So the next step is, naturally, to send it back and ask for a replacement.
However, sometimes, when you receive a replacement monitor from Dell, it comes in a different sort of box that doesn’t have the same markings as the box that a new monitor comes in (red flag numero uno).
Then, sometimes, when you open this different sort of box, you find a monitor inside that looks like it was run over by a forklift.
This happened to me. To add insult to injury, the different sort of box the monitor was shipped in was completely undamaged, meaning that the monitor could not possibly have sustained any of the corresponding impact(s) during shipment.
Perhaps there are trained gorillas running Dell’s Returns Centers? One of them took time out of his workday to carefully pack a completely destroyed monitor for shipping back to an already pissed off customer. All the requisite cardboard and foam packaging materials were there, including video and electrical cables, installation discs, manuals, and other miscellaneous items.
What’s most confounding about an experience like this is that, due to Dell’s overwhelming presence in the marketplace as a computer hardware manufacturer, it is not really reasonable for a technologist to write off Dell products. In my case, I get to try harder not to buy Dell products, which will sometimes be an exercise in futility. In fact, it could potentially create further disservices to myself and to others I would purchase hardware for, resulting in even greater losses in productivity.
Sadly, it’s pretty much a certainty that at some point in the not-too-distant future I will need to purchase something that Dell makes. And to further contribute to the mounting dismay, there is a good probability that this item will also be ordered in bulk—that is, quantities in at least the dozens, but possibly hundreds.