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With a scream and a squishy, blenderizing sound, one of the Elven Horde is sucked into the fan of my computer as he races past from one hidy hole to another. I am amazed that WinBlows completely fails to crash. The stalemate of yesterday has changed little, The Munchkins of Mayhem still hold the high ground of Mount Desk Lamp, and the Elven Horde and the Fighting Faeries are still dug in amongst the bric-a-brac and files. The chakka-chak and Pow-zing! of small arms fire has even slowed considerably, as there is very little in the way of targets. After a morning of listening to a great deal of "Ah-Hahs!", "Mrhm-hmms" and "Oh-HOHs", the Voodoo Bortherhood of Modern Medicine has informed me that there's nothing for it, but hospitilization. Unfortunately, the Hospital is 'All Full Up" at the moment, and I must wait for someone to either die or get better before I can be admitted. I'm told that, as this is a Very Big Hospital, these things happen quite regularly, and I should find myself with a spot by the end of the day, or tomorow at the very latest. Idly, I wonder which is the more common cause of a bed opening.  "Medical" Leeches at work. So, knowing that this will be my last missive for an indefinite period of time, I causually poke around the net using an Anonimizing Server graciously provided by the web site of an Industrial Band and look around for some Baudelaire, some Nietzsche and some other Free Literature to download and print off as reading material during my incarceration to keep me from climbing the walls.  What worries me most is what the Little Folk will get up to in my absence. With no one around to enforce the ban on medium and light ordindance, I suspect the bric-a-brac will suffer greatly, and I'm unsure if my insurance covers "Destruction of Property Caused by an Invasion of Wee Folk." But I have little time to contemplate such things at the moment. Well, at present I have little else to add, and little time to add it. So, I guess, for the time being, I bid you all adieu. But I shall return, you have been warned. LAST MINUTE ADDENDUM: As I was sitting here wating for the sever that hosts this page to unflake itself, an Odd and Interesting thing happened. A while back, while I was in the process of collecting every Monks tune I could collect off the net, I pulled a song called Skylab. Now, I know my Monks, but I had never even heard of this song. (You know, "Nice Legs, Shame About the Face", or the classic "Drugs in my Pocket"? No? Well, I guess they are kinda obscure.) Anyhoo, it turns out that the song was in fact the theme to a 70s Aussie sitcom. But, it was kinda a funky tune, so I left it in my MP3 playlist, and every now and then it pops up and I wonder exactly what the hell that old sitcom was about. I also left it in the playlist because the computer I pulled it off had a lousy 1200baud connection. (Talk about Stone Age!) As I was sitting listening to it, I realized that the semi-annoying beeping in the background was, in fact, Morse Code. Grabbing pen and paper, I quickly transcribed it on the fly, and realised that the SECRET MESSAGE hidden in the background was nothing more than SOS SKYLAB. Neat. Then a couple of other things occur to me. What kind of backwater ass-end of nowhere is some guy sitting in with a computer that can manage MP3s, but can only manage a 1200 baud connection to the net? And what kind of FREAK am I that, in this day and age, I can (or would want to) transcribe Morse on the fly from the background of a 70s Aussie sitcom theme song? |
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