A little Mac attack

March 11, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

My mighty Mac: A G4 450 MHz "Sawtooth" Power Mac, circa 1999, with enhancements that include a 1.1GHz processor upgrade, a USB 2.0 card, a DVD burner, 2GB RAM and a second internal HD. I picked it up for the cost of shipping it here from California: $50.

March went and got all lionesque on us here — the temp was down around 11 when I got up this morning, and it still hasn’t cracked the freezing point as of 11 a.m. It’s tough to get excited about taking a bit of vigorous outdoor exercise when even a short run requires wearing everything in the closet. So I’m staying inside and buying shit over the Intertubes, hoping to jump-start the economy.

No, a new Mac is not in the works — not yet, anyway. But I am dropping a bigger hard drive in the old one while I wait for the product line to shake itself out. You can pick up an HD for chump change anymore, and there’s nothing easier to work on than a G4 Power Mac, so I’m going to clone the OS X volume from the old 20GB master drive, drop in the new drive, zap the boot volume to it, and enjoy about 100GB of breathing room. I might even do without the OS 9 partition, since I haven’t booted from that sucker in, well, forever. I use Classic to run Photoshop 4.0 — yes, that’s 4.0 — but there’s an unused copy of Photoshop Elements sitting right here next to the desk, so this may finally mean hasta la vista to OS 9.

Meanwhile, my fellow MacGeeks will appreciate learning that Apple is expected to release some type of netbook in 2009, perhaps as early as summer. No doubt it will pack big style points and an even bigger retail price. Asus must be shitting themselves. Or not. Thanks and a tug on the black turtleneck to MacRumors.com.

Soup kitchen

March 7, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

While we wait for Wall Street types to do the right thing and start jumping out of windows, we’re making soup as a hedge against the harsh economic climate. This particular pot has its roots in an old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, but has flowered in a variety of odd directions depending upon my mood and what I have on hand.

Score yourself three pounds of crosscut beef shank and put it in a big pot with about 18 ounces of tomato juice, six cups of fluid (water, beef stock, vegetable stock or a combo), a handful of chopped onion, three or four crushed cloves of garlic, a couple teaspoons salt, a half-dozen peppercorns, a shake or two of Worcestershire sauce, a bay leaf, a dash of cumin, a pinch of Mexican oregano and whatever chile powder you may favor and can bear (this batch has a rounded teaspoon each of mild and medium Chimayo red, plus another of chipotle). Cover and simmer for two hours.

Remove the beef, chop into cubes, discard the bones, feed the marrow to your wife. Well, mine likes it. Strain the broth and skim the excess fat, unless it’s cold outside, which it is, so fuck it. Return the meat to the strained broth, add a cup or so of diced spud, another of corn, a can of red, black or white beans (drained), another of crushed roasted tomatoes, and anything else that strikes your fancy. I usually plunk a bit of roasted, peeled and chopped green chile in there, just ’cause.

Slap the lid back on and simmer for another hour. Check the seasonings and serve with a side salad and maybe some organic corn chips to crush and add for roughage. A little grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Black Diamond cheddar makes a nice garnish. What the hell, chop a little flat-leaf Italian parsley and sprinkle that on, too. Double up on the recipe and take half to your neighborhood hobo jungle.

This is good with a French red, a Spanish rosé or a U-nited States of America beer, in this case an Obsidian Stout from Deschutes Brewery. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow. …

Below the belt(way)

March 7, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

The Mighty Turk views with alarm as winter returns to Bibleburg, however briefly.

I’ve been trying very hard to ignore the Repuglicans’ screeching, holding of breath and stamping of pudgy widdle feet, reasoning that, like Oscar Wilde — or perhaps a gasbag with a microphone who is better fed than taught — they have decided that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.

But damn, am I sick of the racket.

I don’t agree with everything going on in the Obama camp, either, perhaps because I’m not smart enough to unravel the grand design. But after eight years of enduring that other guy, I’m willing to give Obama a little time to assess the situation and determine his response, free of snarky asides about how he’s already going gray or uses the teleprompter more than Honest Abe.

And seriously, if you voted for that other guy the last two outings, you really need to shut the fuck up for a while. Firefighters at work are not obliged to take criticism from arsonists.

Another advocate of reasonable behavior in the face of idiocy, Robert Sullivan, argues in The New York Times that cyclists have begun acting like cars instead of people. He never really defines himself as a cyclist (commuter? recreational rider?), though he does sneer weakly and tritely at Lance Armstrong wanna-bes and fixie kids. And his essay wanders around more than I’d like. But his basic point is one I support — treat others as you would be treated. It’s hypocritical to bitch about psycho motorists if you ride like a bonehead.

Knob job

March 4, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

If that big bald-headed sonofabitch can work this thing, I should be able to. He isn't so much of a much.

What does Turkish want for his birthday? Opposable thumbs, so he can open the goddamn door. He wants out! Out! Out out out out out, as in right fucking now, thank you very much.

The great furry swine turned 2 years old today, but he’s been very deep into the terrible twos for the better part of quite some time, stalking about the joint complaining about this and that and reminding me very much of me, only sober. Plus he can lose all the white hair he wants and never go bald.

Just be careful what you wish for, big guy. You ever get those opposable thumbs you crave so desperately, we’re making you clean out your own litter box. The presents you leave for us in there could blow a buzzard right off a gutpile.

Wanted: RoboScribe

March 4, 2009November 16, 2010 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments

Q: A Seventies-era newsman would have used which of these eight tools? (Hint: Batteries not required.)

The Rocky may be no more, but the Gazette is very much with us — and looking for a roving reporter:

Gazette.com, in Colorado Springs, is looking for a morning person in our newsroom. Your job: update gazette.com by 7 a.m.; record a quick vodcast with headlines and promos to upcoming coverage; hit the streets and post breaking news throughout the morning; update your blog; then polish selected stories for the Gazette’s print edition. You’ll be mobile and wired, and will have a police scanner and a camera. You need strong reporting and writing skills. You need to be an early technology adopter, able to pick up on new and better ways to get the news you report to your readers, wherever they may be and through whatever channel they prefer. This is critical: readers will not come to you; your job is to go to them. You need dependable wheels. We’ll give you the tools and space you need to make the beat your own, and to let your personality and authority shine through. Journalism degree or relevant related experience required. Send letter, resume, clips to managing editor Larry Ryckman: larry.ryckman@gazette.com. See us at gazette.com; on Facebook (colorado springs gazette), and Twitter (csgazette).

Well, that sounds like a day’s work and then some. When I was a sprout pounding out the word count for what was then called the Gazette Telegraph, in the late Seventies, it was not uncommon to write a half-dozen pieces a day, massage a few rewrites and then go out and get good and drunk. We were often both mobile and wired, but not in a strictly professional — or even marginally functional — sense.

Happily, that was then, and this is now. Anyone who’s charging around 21st-century Bibleburg with a backpack full of esoteric electronica, grilling the brass as to why the troops dick around with C4 during red-flag warnings and otherwise making themselves unwelcome between Twitter tweets, Facebook postings, website updates and hard-copy journalism is liable to find the pubs shuttered come quitting time — assuming he or she can afford a few glasses of ale on what the G is willing and able to pay in this market.

I think I’ll stick to cycling journalism. I don’t have to teach a seminar on Open Records 101 to any uniformed governmental dysfunctionaries on a daily basis, I can work in my skivvies, and the ‘fridge full of ale is only a few shorts steps away. Say, it must be 5 o’clock somewhere, don’t you think?