Entry edited the better to illustrate it. Having been insulted, an IE browser on a Windows machine stubbornly refused to render its Firefox rival as required. I have to force it to surrender.
I'd like to avoid it.
I try to avoid it.
I can't avoid it.
I wish when the final disaster strikes and the time comes to buy a new computer, more people would see sense, spend that little bit extra required and get a nice friendly Mac, mini or otherwise.
 So still I suggest they do this.
Very occasionally, somebody listens and does. A few delight me by getting fed up, buying a PC, getting even crosser with that and returning to the fold of the five percent (or whatever it is these days).
Usually they were only fed up because, like the Kid, they never read the manual, don't realise the word 'Help' in most programmes means what it says, and waste prodigious amounts of time trying to prove they're smarter than their computers. They are, of course, but haven't realised computers are so much more stupid than them they need to be told exactly what to do, which it's easy to learn.
Computers also don't lose their tempers and can be patiently stupid until they go wonky for ever.
Should you believe this woman was caught at a critical juncture down at the copshop in a bedtime fairy tale for toddlers, rest assured that all resemblance to Sharon Stone is probably accidental.
To buy the cultural artefacts, from Apple or elsewhere, I need these days may lead to a spot of bother for my bank manager. As a backup measure to help him out, I've planned a little job involving friends and a water pistol in minute detail, where the lady would drive the getaway car.
However, my basic instinct is to make the poor man happy.
So a friend will come and see the fellow with me. When he raises delicate subjects in our chit-chat, her easy task will be to have him see things in a new light, less or more than shown here, until we are done with the paperwork. Then he can have a nice lunch.
Either way, if I'm later run over by a bus, it'll his problem, not mine.
I wasted time being the blind leading the blinder for a friend unable to go on writing up a life of high drama and wild flings with men, which has so far been a wee bit messy, to put it kindly.
She must get on with this book because though she complains it's "fucking hard work", parts she has read to me are well written and riddled with original insights and images.
She was stuck because it had "gone". So she said.
I knew it hadn't because she still had "something" on her computer and simply couldn't get at it. I have to use Windows at work, but seem unable to sort out the most elementary problems as a 'phone hotline for someone faced with such problems on a Windows PC.
That word "backup" has never been part of my friend's vocabulary, in more senses than one. To her credit, she was fairly calm after four days of vanished book when I'd have been climbing up more than the walls, but insisted she needed what was done to get on.
When my imagination ran out of ways to turn geek-speak notions into language she could understand and both our phone bills were too big, I was hugely relieved she decided to talk about sex.
Macs only come into it because if my friend had one, her dilemma would have been sorted out in a jiffy and we could have started the far more amusing bit of our chat quickly.
"So, please accept my apologies if I sound like an advertisement, but I love telling people about crap that works."
Me too. Kate did about Outlook Spam Filter at Electric Venom and seems much happier with her Inbox. I'm paid up to Eudora and very happy with its way of cutting the crap and rewarding me with carrots for peppering my mails with foul language.
It's to cut more crap that this entry is adorned with a picture of Firefox. This is for another friend and anybody else suitable who fancies me it. It doesn't matter if the text is almost illegible in the snap, dear, since all you need to see is those "tabs" across the top of the browser, ideal for quick-jump research, the "toolbar" that you can customise just how you like in a few minutes and the general look of the beast.
For e-mail, you might take a look at Thunderbird, also free, from the same people and worth the raves going around, though I'll give it a whirl myself and then tell you just what I make of it.
Both of them work just fine on Windows, Macs and the rest of it. Your life will become easier overnight. Then we too can spend more time talking about sex. Or not talking about it, if that's more entertaining for you.
If anybody else reading this wonders what happened to the book, well, a tech in town gave it back to my other friend today and she's even learned how to back it up!
I doubt very much that the technical fellow was allowed to read any, because it's full of sex, scarcely coy in the details, sometimes poetic ... and hilarious.
This last aspect of the achievement is a view I've long held but kept to myself rather than telling its author, who preferred to believe she's writing a tragedy about Love and a very personal series of misadventures when walloped by the Big L.
She needed so much encouragement to pursue the effort one day that I staked all on sharing the whole truth and told her it's so damned funny and about life as lots of people know and enjoy reading about it that her story will probably take the roof off the best-seller list in less than a week. As it is, she has a talent for taking the lid off men's minds.
She was too distant to kick me, so instead decided to be speechless for a moment or two, realise she doesn't yet know enough about how space and time work to make the instant displacement required to give me a heck of a thump and then take her clothes off to make me well again, and took the appalling news far better than expected.
So for the sake of us all, I hope while I've been doing a spot of evangelism, she's been getting on with her in-depth exploration of guilt, painful memories, jealousy and almost unspeakably delightful times for our general edification and benefit.
 "Cavewomen" was taken at India's Ellora temples by Rhymer Rigby, who informs us it's "an abberation and the puerile smut you've come to expect will return shortly". I strongly recommend his corner of the net to everybody after great pix and an entertaining read:
"It has often occurred to me that, with eight arms, the human capacity for pleasure would be almost limitless."
Quite. Rhymer took his freelance skills to India's Ellora caves many years after I did. This link and other pix came as a relief to find the old ways are still thriving.
Why Ellora? The other night a woman and me were chomping away cheerfully in an Indian restaurant. She was too absorbed in what a very odd couple there were doing to notice that my own attention was at that moment almost totally devoted to the place her blouse stopped and her breasts began and other fine art of a related nature.
She couldn't figure out a satisfactory answer to her question about the couple. It occurred to me she might if we did some kundalini yoga on the table while the manager and waiters did a suitable lingam and yoni dance around us and suggested everyone have some fun.
So we did and soon she knew all she wanted about the strange pair she was engrossed in. Never the mind the mess and the food since they helped and such occasions need a little spice.
It merely happened in another dimension.
The Indian sculpture picture that accompanies a fuller description of what went on there is one you can run away and find on the Net yourselves because while there are many of them, maybe they're not for the children.
Some people say "it's rude to stare." Can't say it worries me, most of my friends or those women at Ellora.
1:10:52 AM link 
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