Google me, I'm Irish

Things I do not like include the increasing certainty that I am not merely not on the leading edge of The Curve, not merely behind The Curve, but rapidly falling far enough back in the pack to not even know that there's an Ahead with a Curve somewhere in it. Apparently it's a wiki world, and me not even a wikiterial , sakes. I thin I'm somewhere still in the gawrsh it sure is cool not being dependent on The Man's mainframe, hyuk hyuk. Maybe it's because I dare to write on a Dell machine, which as Our Andrew never fails to point out is hardly the textbook def of y. Our Andrew is not a Mac bigot; he's been agitating for Alienware ever since the fabled Tector was a fabled pup, and we do take the opportunity to point out that Alienware has been oh how should we put it assimilated by Dell. But I think it's because I have resisted being assimilated entirely into the Googleplex.

I dunno: I like Word. I'm kinda fond of Excel. I like my files where I can find them. I'm not convinced of the wisdom of hanging my so-called intellectual property (which it's the equivalent of a Balmer rowhouse) out in a server farm in Oregon and trusting Larry Page and Sergey Brin to remain warm n fuzzy n Wozlike, and not morph overnight into dare I say it Bill Gates (insert scary Elmer Bernstein music here). Other than it seeming kinda incomprehensible that given power corrupts and absolute power corrupting absolutely how is it different that Gates' inherent evility stems from selling out to The Man with MS-DOS whereas Page n Blin are magically incorrupt even after The Biggest IPO Ever (insert Those Were The Days cue here, o so long ago in the fabled days of yore when disposable incomes strewed daffodils across the land and mortgage companies showered us with monopoly registered trademark money), I should very much like to know? Ah well, mebbe I should just retire to my detached garage and push globs of Turtle Wax into my T while I'm at it, or fahgeddabout this furshlugginger keyboard and just scribble all over the screen with my vaguely sharp crow quill and let the ink kinda ooze into the Aether.

Say, what is that giant rock heading our way out of the sky? Not to worry, it's just a commercial airliner. Although I'll grant that when TSA gains access control over everything, which will likely be in about a week or ten days given today's news, there might be advantages to having all of one's work stored in a server farm in Oregon, since the only place we'll be able to go in and out of without a biochip ID will be our living rooms. Well, I've always wanted to be a sim.