adventures of a las vegas dullard

[spatch]

First person to answer "Why doesn't IE on a Mac recognize that if I'm in a text entry window and I hit the HOME key, chances are I wanted to go to the beginning of the text line and NOT the beginning of the page?" without using the words "microshaft" or "internet exploder" or any tiresome "use some other browser" bullshit wins the privilege of not being socked in the snoot. I don't feel like explaining or justifying myself to zealots. It's just that I can't do what I want with what I've got, and I'm rather ... mystified. Some developer never did much online writing, that's for sure. (-1, I Am Tired)

I stayed up most of last night on the 20th floor of the Sahara, window open and Stratosphere blinking ahead of me. Had a lot to write about, but now that I'm actually in front of a computer I don't have anything to transcribe because, well, the paper's all back in the room. Hopefully being read by the housekeeping staff. If they can decipher my scribbly late-night handwriting, more power to 'em. As it stands I feel like the biggest dullard in Las Vegas right now, not having gambled or clubbed or even bothered to throw away money on anything except food.

There were some ideas percolatin in my head about what to do while I'm here. Unfortunately the Young Electric Sign Company has its neon sign boneyard open "by appointment only" and getting an appointment involves making a minimum $50 donation and hanging around on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. So it goes. There's a group that's taken a few of the signs from the boneyard, refurbished them, and stuck 'em around Fremont Street if you wish to take a free walking tour, but it involves hanging around Fremont Street at night.

I am going for Pho though. You cannot deny me my weekly bowl of beef noodle soup, no matter how hard you try.

There was a loudmouth tourist on my flight out. Lord I can't figure out who I was more embarrassed for: him, or the rest of us. He was on his second or third vodka tonic (eh?) and was loudly explaining to his seatmates why he loves Vegas.

"CAUSE IT'S SIN CITY, BABY, I LOVE IT, THERE'S NO RULES, YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU WANT, IT'S AWESOME, I CAN'T WAIT TO HIT THE BEE JAY TABLES, AND AFTER THAT I'LL GET THE OTHER BEE JAY IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, YEAH, YEAH, LOOK AT HIM, HE'S NODDING, YOU KNOW HOW I ROLL, BROTHER, HEY BABE CAN I GET ANOTHER ONE OF THESE, YEAH, BOY THEY SURE KNOW HOW TO PICK 'EM ON JETBLUE DON'T THEY, DO THEY LET YOU OUT OF THE AIRPORT HONEY? DO YOU WANNA PARTY WITH US? I BET YOU'RE A PARTY GIRL, YEAH, I WENT TO BODY ENGLISH LAST TIME I WAS HERE OH MAN I HAD A BLAST, I COULDN'T GET INTO PUR OR RAIN THOUGH, I'M NOT SURE WHY, BUT I'M GONNA POUND EM BACK LIKE NOBODY'S FUCKIN BUSINESS NO MATTER WHERE I AM, YOU KNOW, OH YEAH, HE'S WITH IT, YEAH WE'RE GONNA PARTY IT UP, NO RULES IN THIS TOWN, NUH UH, IT'S LIKE OH SORRY COMMISSIONER, I DIDN'T KNOW SHE WAS YOUR DAUGHTER..."

I sat in my seat, headphones over my ears, and silently said little prayers like I hope you get fucking taken for every cent you've got, you bastard. I hope they roll you right outside Cheetahs. I hope you "roll, brother" to some strip mall and end up gettin that Bee Jay from someone named Coco, and I hope she rolls you, brother, for all you've got.

But that's just how I roll, brother.

Comments

[heliopsis.livejournal.com]

I was flying to a conference in Los Alamos once, and behind me was a herd of tourists from Ohio. It was june--Scientific conferences always take place at unappealing times of year for their destinations--and as we flew over Arizona (from arid meaning dry, desolate, desert) an increasingly drunken Ohioan could be heard complaining, ever more loudly, "It's all brown! I thought it would be green! It's so brown!" No doubt she eventually poured herself into a golf course attached to her hotel, and got some green; but then she probably complained about the absence of willows. "I thought there'd be trees! And ducks!"

As for the home key--this is not an answer, merely my own musings. I have never used a home key in my life. Macs don't have them by default, and I have no idea what I would expect such a thing to do. Windows computers have dozens of extra keys that I loathe: forward-delete, for instance, or insert, each of which causes the computer to do something I never, ever, ever want it to do. I liked the fact that the original Mac keyboard--I still have one!--had only 50 or so keys. Letters, numbers, punctuation, shift, space, tab, backspace. No function keys, no number keypad, no cursor movement keys. Just keys that put actual symbols on your screen. I loved the simplicity of it.

My least favourite key is insert, which throws Word into the most loathsome state ever with no warning whatsoever. If you're a touch typist, you can easily destroy a whole paragraph before you figure out what the hell is going on. My second least favourite is the unspeakable one that has a picture of a menu, and which makes things pop out all over your screen for no good reason, and the only thing to make them go away is to click on one. With the mouse, of course, because why in hell would I use the keyboard to select menus? That's what God made mice for! (You may not have realised that the mouse was divinely inspired; many people think the mouse was invented by Douglas Engelbart, but God spoke to him in a dream. He just won't admit it.)

There, I'm glad I got that off my chest.

[annilita.livejournal.com]

Whoever invented the insert key needs a sound beating.

Insert This

[mdm-sosostris.livejournal.com]

Darling John Olson,

I must direct your attention to this:

An Open Letter to My Computer's Insert Key

I believe you might be able to sympathize.