20 June 2011 (Monday) - Stuff
I see that on every other PC in the world (other than mine) for the last three weeks there has been some weird sort of video screen appearing after the day’s pictures on my blog entries. ‘er indoors TM pointed this out to me about an hour after bed time last night. It took an age to put the blog right. I have absolutely no idea what that was about, and would be grateful for any comments and suggestions as to where they might have come from.
Interestingly I received an email from my anti-virus scanner telling me that in the last month it has monitored 313 suspicious processes. It didn’t say anything about stopping them; just about monitoring them.
Equally mysterious in todays news was the decision by a rabbinical court in Jerusalem to kill a dog by stoning. Apparently religious crackpots recognised the animal as the reincarnation of someone who’d boiled their piss some twenty years previously.
I’ve mentioned before that the last thing I ever expected from the twenty-first century was the resurgence of crackpot superstitions as a serious political and social power.
And also somewhat topical… A good friend of mine is about (in a few months time) to become a father. When “My Boy TM ” was born we were the first people in our social circle to have children, and so it was very much a voyage into the unknown. Which was probably for the best: I seem to delight in regaling prospective parents with horror stories of what to expect from their brats. And I always (only half-jokingly) reassure them with the prospect that in twenty (or so) years time they leave home.
However, “leaving home” is not such an easily definable term as one might think. Take “My Boy TM ” for example. For all that he spends his every waking hour at his girl friend’s house; I won’t consider him moved out until I stop doing his laundry for him. Since his return from France on Saturday I’ve seen him for maybe ten minutes in total. And most of that was him running out of the door.
But my laundry bin is now overflowing with his grubby smalls which came back from France with him, and that he wants washed.