Yes, this is my kind of day!!! Today is NATIONAL CHILI DAY!!!! Si!!!
I am in heaven. I raided the freezer this morning and several quarts of homemade chili are defrosting on the counter as I type. Chili is one of my favorite comfort foods. It takes me the better part of the day to make it. I use four different kinds of beans and what ever side of dead animal I happen to have on the ready. It's a labor of love.
It is the end of February in 'sconsin. The windchill right now is actually 22-degrees below fucking zero. HOLY SHIT!!! Yeah, it's a chili kind of dinner tonight. Fresh cornbread will be available in abundance. In the name of the goddess, why the hell do I live here??? Oh, wait, I remember now. Vodka. In large amounts. Dare I say copious amounts???
Tonight we feast on chili. Enough said...
Yes, there is a sonrisa on my cara!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
I AM A MUTT OF AMAZING DISTINCTION...
Yeah, I'm a Heinz 57. I have more genes in me than I know what to do with. I am an amalgamation of races and creeds. And I love it. On my mother's side I am both Northern and Southern European. On my father's side I am Northern European and Native American. Yes, I am a mutt. And I wear that badge proudly. Hey, it ain't easy being an American...
My paternal great-great grandmother was a full blood Menominee Sioux from northern Minnesota. Yeah, the Sioux Nation. We're still not sure if great-great grandpa John and great-great grandma Elisabeth were ever legally married (this country had some really strange laws back then) but they homesteaded 40 acres of prairie in southern Illinois, built a sod house and raised a family. One of their daughters was my great-grandmother. Her name was Emma. She married a crazy man named Henry. They had two sons. One named Glenn. He was my grandfather. He married a woman who's name was Vena. Her mother was full blood Cherokee from the Carolinas. Her name was Susie. And she warmed my heart for the short time that I knew her. She was statuesque and gracious . A heart of gold.
OK, here's the truly strange part. I've done a bit of research. On my mother's side there is a very good chance that I am a descendant of one of the founders of Jamestown. Oh lord. I sat back in my chair and just went pale. Holy shit. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!
Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm me. And I'm an American. I have genes that go back generations. Some I have known, some I have not. Their blood runs in my veins and I am proud. Damned proud!
Sometimes the best things you can find are the mutts at the rescue shelter....
My paternal great-great grandmother was a full blood Menominee Sioux from northern Minnesota. Yeah, the Sioux Nation. We're still not sure if great-great grandpa John and great-great grandma Elisabeth were ever legally married (this country had some really strange laws back then) but they homesteaded 40 acres of prairie in southern Illinois, built a sod house and raised a family. One of their daughters was my great-grandmother. Her name was Emma. She married a crazy man named Henry. They had two sons. One named Glenn. He was my grandfather. He married a woman who's name was Vena. Her mother was full blood Cherokee from the Carolinas. Her name was Susie. And she warmed my heart for the short time that I knew her. She was statuesque and gracious . A heart of gold.
OK, here's the truly strange part. I've done a bit of research. On my mother's side there is a very good chance that I am a descendant of one of the founders of Jamestown. Oh lord. I sat back in my chair and just went pale. Holy shit. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!
Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm me. And I'm an American. I have genes that go back generations. Some I have known, some I have not. Their blood runs in my veins and I am proud. Damned proud!
Sometimes the best things you can find are the mutts at the rescue shelter....
I AM THE FRED FLINTSTONE OF TECHNOLOGY!
Oh crap! Yes, it is true, the world has passed me by. I reached my technology apex with the Motorola "Big Boy" cell phones. Anyone remember those things? They were about the size of a brick and weighed just about as much. They had an antenna. Most of the weight of those things was the battery. Which had a useful charge of about 2 hours. If you didn't use it... Aah, yes, the early 1990's.
Today I am lost in a jungle of circuits, micro-circuits and mini-micro-circuits. The cell phone that I now use is about the size of a postage stamp. And I don't know how to use the damned thing. When it rings I just look at it and wonder if it is going to detonate. It is a flip phone. My friends laugh at me. They are begging me to upgrade to something called a Smart Phone. I have no idea what that means. Hell, I have trouble with my answering machine. Again, I'm afraid it might detonate.
I am surrounded by digital appliances. But I have no other option. My microwave scares me. My Crock Pot just shakes its head at me. Even the thermostat gives me dirty looks. And my Mr. Coffee has occasionally flipped me the finger. I just want stuff that has actual factual dials on it. That I can turn.
I barely know how to use my computer. It just keeps "upgrading" itself. What the hell is up with that shit??? I have only slightly begun to learn the last "upgrade" when suddenly there is a new one. Which in all honesty is like trying to translate Portuguese into Mandarin. To me a computer has only three viable uses, email, Google and free porn. Not necessarily in that order. I don't want "apps". Hell, I don't even know what those are. I think FaceBook and Twitter are the crack cocaine of the 21st century. Good for you, you're eating a pickle. I don't want to hear about it!!! Don't even get me started on this "social networking" thing. If your not in the same room with each other then it is NOT social!!!
I recently bought a Kindle thing. Dumbest purchase I have ever made. It just sets on the kitchen counter so I can use it to Google recipes. Once again, I'm afraid it's going to arm itself and detonate.
I am a child of the past. I remember rotary dial phones that were anchored into the wall. Leaded gasoline. Black and white tv's that were the size of coffins. Stereo. What's up with this 5.2 thing? I only have two ears. Both of which were totally wrecked in the 1970's thanks to a rock band named Deep Purple. I'm so old it hurts.
I want a time machine. Send me back to a simpler time!!!
Today I am lost in a jungle of circuits, micro-circuits and mini-micro-circuits. The cell phone that I now use is about the size of a postage stamp. And I don't know how to use the damned thing. When it rings I just look at it and wonder if it is going to detonate. It is a flip phone. My friends laugh at me. They are begging me to upgrade to something called a Smart Phone. I have no idea what that means. Hell, I have trouble with my answering machine. Again, I'm afraid it might detonate.
I am surrounded by digital appliances. But I have no other option. My microwave scares me. My Crock Pot just shakes its head at me. Even the thermostat gives me dirty looks. And my Mr. Coffee has occasionally flipped me the finger. I just want stuff that has actual factual dials on it. That I can turn.
I barely know how to use my computer. It just keeps "upgrading" itself. What the hell is up with that shit??? I have only slightly begun to learn the last "upgrade" when suddenly there is a new one. Which in all honesty is like trying to translate Portuguese into Mandarin. To me a computer has only three viable uses, email, Google and free porn. Not necessarily in that order. I don't want "apps". Hell, I don't even know what those are. I think FaceBook and Twitter are the crack cocaine of the 21st century. Good for you, you're eating a pickle. I don't want to hear about it!!! Don't even get me started on this "social networking" thing. If your not in the same room with each other then it is NOT social!!!
I recently bought a Kindle thing. Dumbest purchase I have ever made. It just sets on the kitchen counter so I can use it to Google recipes. Once again, I'm afraid it's going to arm itself and detonate.
I am a child of the past. I remember rotary dial phones that were anchored into the wall. Leaded gasoline. Black and white tv's that were the size of coffins. Stereo. What's up with this 5.2 thing? I only have two ears. Both of which were totally wrecked in the 1970's thanks to a rock band named Deep Purple. I'm so old it hurts.
I want a time machine. Send me back to a simpler time!!!
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
THE MOLCAJETE FROM HELL...
Why do I volunteer for projects like this? I mean, it's not like I'm getting extra credit or anything.
Several months ago a dear amiga of mine (who shall remain nameless as I am convinced that she is in the country illegally. I keep asking for her Green Card which is futile because she just keeps showing me a card that happens to be green. I'd turn her into INS but I love her too much.) and I decided to make a batch of fresh tortillas from scratch. It was entertaining to watch us to say the least. Did we have a tortilla press? Hell no, that would have been too easy. Three comals, yes. Tortilla press, no.
As we gathered around the table, savoring our creation and swilling tequila the conversation turned to fresh homemade salsa. And, of course, to do that you need a molcajete to do it right. Now, we both know how to use one of those things but neither of us have one. I've held those things in my hands in Mexico so many times that it hurts. Did I buy one? No. Reason? REALLY overweight luggage. Which should never have been a reason to stop me. Hell, when I come back from Mexico my luggage usually weighs about as much as big block V-8 car engine from the '60's. What can I say, shopping is my drug of choice.
So we're sitting there at the table and all of a sudden her mouth drops open, she points over my shoulder at the bookcase behind me and says "Where the hell did THAT come from???". I turn around, thinking I'm about to be attacked by death adders and find myself eye to eye with an authentic lava stone molcajete. So damned dusty that it hurt. My heart sang. I turned back to her, took another bite of my taco and said "HOW THE HELL CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT YOU OWN A MOLCAJETE???". Good lord, it's a stone pig. How do you overlook that sort of thing? So I drag the damned thing into the kitchen, wash it off and realize that it is virgin. New. Never been used. My heart sank...
Molcajete's are a strange animal. I've done my research. Curing and seasoning these little piggies is not an easy task. They are lava rock. They are rough. They need to be broken in before you even consider trying to use them. I scour estate sales for dead Mexican grandmothers looking for these things. I want one that is at least 50 years old and heavily used. So, last Saturday she hands me this thing and says "Make it go". WHAT?!?!
Do not ask me why but I decided to take up the challenge. First, I soaked it in water overnight. I started out grinding raw uncooked rice into dust in this thing. About two pounds worth of it. Yeah, that was fun. On day two I switched over to course grind kosher sea salt. About 8 freaking pounds worth of course grind kosher sea salt got ground into something akin to talcum powder. Finally, half way through the last box I met with success. No black grit. And an inside surface that was about as smooth as I was gonna waste my time making it. I damned near wore my left arm off! Then I scrubbed the shit out of it. Then, it was time for a test drive. Three heads of garlic, a couple of diced onions and some olive oil. Yes, the smushing and gushing had begun. In less than 5 minutes I had more aioli than I knew what to do with. Well, of course, you have to let this concoction set in the molcajete overnight so it permeates the lava stone. We woke up the next morning to an apartment that wreaked of garlic. Imagine an Italian restaurant on the brown acid. Once again, I scrubbed the shit out of this damned thing. It has the most wonderful aroma to it now.
Success. Yes, SUCCESS! This was like giving birth to a child. And worth every curse word that I tossed out at it. SUCCESS!
The best part? My amiga has decided that little piggy is to be named "Donaldo". And she has granted me visitation rights. I am a happy camper and there is homemade salsa in my future...
Life is good!
Several months ago a dear amiga of mine (who shall remain nameless as I am convinced that she is in the country illegally. I keep asking for her Green Card which is futile because she just keeps showing me a card that happens to be green. I'd turn her into INS but I love her too much.) and I decided to make a batch of fresh tortillas from scratch. It was entertaining to watch us to say the least. Did we have a tortilla press? Hell no, that would have been too easy. Three comals, yes. Tortilla press, no.
As we gathered around the table, savoring our creation and swilling tequila the conversation turned to fresh homemade salsa. And, of course, to do that you need a molcajete to do it right. Now, we both know how to use one of those things but neither of us have one. I've held those things in my hands in Mexico so many times that it hurts. Did I buy one? No. Reason? REALLY overweight luggage. Which should never have been a reason to stop me. Hell, when I come back from Mexico my luggage usually weighs about as much as big block V-8 car engine from the '60's. What can I say, shopping is my drug of choice.
So we're sitting there at the table and all of a sudden her mouth drops open, she points over my shoulder at the bookcase behind me and says "Where the hell did THAT come from???". I turn around, thinking I'm about to be attacked by death adders and find myself eye to eye with an authentic lava stone molcajete. So damned dusty that it hurt. My heart sang. I turned back to her, took another bite of my taco and said "HOW THE HELL CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT YOU OWN A MOLCAJETE???". Good lord, it's a stone pig. How do you overlook that sort of thing? So I drag the damned thing into the kitchen, wash it off and realize that it is virgin. New. Never been used. My heart sank...
Molcajete's are a strange animal. I've done my research. Curing and seasoning these little piggies is not an easy task. They are lava rock. They are rough. They need to be broken in before you even consider trying to use them. I scour estate sales for dead Mexican grandmothers looking for these things. I want one that is at least 50 years old and heavily used. So, last Saturday she hands me this thing and says "Make it go". WHAT?!?!
Do not ask me why but I decided to take up the challenge. First, I soaked it in water overnight. I started out grinding raw uncooked rice into dust in this thing. About two pounds worth of it. Yeah, that was fun. On day two I switched over to course grind kosher sea salt. About 8 freaking pounds worth of course grind kosher sea salt got ground into something akin to talcum powder. Finally, half way through the last box I met with success. No black grit. And an inside surface that was about as smooth as I was gonna waste my time making it. I damned near wore my left arm off! Then I scrubbed the shit out of it. Then, it was time for a test drive. Three heads of garlic, a couple of diced onions and some olive oil. Yes, the smushing and gushing had begun. In less than 5 minutes I had more aioli than I knew what to do with. Well, of course, you have to let this concoction set in the molcajete overnight so it permeates the lava stone. We woke up the next morning to an apartment that wreaked of garlic. Imagine an Italian restaurant on the brown acid. Once again, I scrubbed the shit out of this damned thing. It has the most wonderful aroma to it now.
Success. Yes, SUCCESS! This was like giving birth to a child. And worth every curse word that I tossed out at it. SUCCESS!
The best part? My amiga has decided that little piggy is to be named "Donaldo". And she has granted me visitation rights. I am a happy camper and there is homemade salsa in my future...
Life is good!
Friday, February 14, 2014
FIESTA!!!
It's 'sconsin. It's February. It's colder than mother fucking shit. To me that means only one thing... FIESTA!!!
Tomorrow, Sea Squirt and I are hosting an impromptu, short notice get together. A couple of phone calls have been made. A couple of people have taken the challenge. We love that. It's time to get way too many people in the kitchen than it can possibly handle safely and get that sucker rocking. Nothing is more fun than too many buns in the kitchen with a bunch of knives and bowls. And an assortment of strange single use appliances.
The stereo will be blaring. All four burners will be going. The oven will be on. Knives will be going in all directions. Tequila will be flowing like Niagara Falls. There will be dancing. There will be singing. And there better be some cussing. If not, well, then I'm gonna be very disappointed.
It is February in 'sconsin. It is time for four bean chili, corn bread, Buffalo chicken thighs (screw that wing thing!!! It's really just a waste of time in my opinion.), chorizo stuffed portobellos, a salad of unusual size and a couple of bottles of Sauza. Yeah, winter sucks. You just gotta do what you gotta do...
We are a hearty breed here. Strange but very hearty. We gather together. We eat. We drink. We party. And we tell wondrously off color jokes.
Can life possibly get any better than that???
Tomorrow, Sea Squirt and I are hosting an impromptu, short notice get together. A couple of phone calls have been made. A couple of people have taken the challenge. We love that. It's time to get way too many people in the kitchen than it can possibly handle safely and get that sucker rocking. Nothing is more fun than too many buns in the kitchen with a bunch of knives and bowls. And an assortment of strange single use appliances.
The stereo will be blaring. All four burners will be going. The oven will be on. Knives will be going in all directions. Tequila will be flowing like Niagara Falls. There will be dancing. There will be singing. And there better be some cussing. If not, well, then I'm gonna be very disappointed.
It is February in 'sconsin. It is time for four bean chili, corn bread, Buffalo chicken thighs (screw that wing thing!!! It's really just a waste of time in my opinion.), chorizo stuffed portobellos, a salad of unusual size and a couple of bottles of Sauza. Yeah, winter sucks. You just gotta do what you gotta do...
We are a hearty breed here. Strange but very hearty. We gather together. We eat. We drink. We party. And we tell wondrously off color jokes.
Can life possibly get any better than that???
Thursday, February 13, 2014
EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE A TSUNAMI HITS YOUR SHORES...
Sometimes it's a nightmare. And sometimes, if you're very, very VERY lucky it is a thing of beauty. A wave of intelligence and wisdom so deep that you could not mine it out of a well no matter how deep you dug. I have been blessed with that. And I count myself so FUCKING lucky that it hurts. Sometimes it is chocolate. Sometimes it is shit. This time, it was chocolate. Bitter sweet dark chocolate (my favorite kind). And I thank my lucky stars for the encounter... She is a dear friend so far off of the Richter scale that it hurts. Yes, I am truly blessed...
I met her by accident. In a restaurant in Mexico. Trust me, it just doesn't get any better than that. She welcomed me with open arms and embraced me like a baby. Within seconds we were family. Can you see the smile on my face???
She's a salty old broad who can cuss like a sailor. I like that. She can throw her arms around you, welcome you and make you melt like a 'smore. I like that too. And then she can slide her glasses down her nose and give you that "look". Trust me, you panic when she does that. And then you giggle because you know that she is trying to give you a learning curve. She has taught me to not change the world but to start changing a street corner. It took me awhile, but I realized that it made a LOT more sense.
Dear woman, you have guided me into directions that I didn't even know that I needed to go to. Yeah, head high, shoulders back and all feathers ruffled up. Years before I met you I learned to never look back, which was an uphill battle. You taught me to always look forwards. Yes, the future. Whether we are going to be around to see it happen or not doesn't matter. A street corner. Simply delicious!
You, dear woman, have taught me to fluff up and do what is right, just, true and to do the right thing. I bow to you!!!
You make me sing!!!!
I met her by accident. In a restaurant in Mexico. Trust me, it just doesn't get any better than that. She welcomed me with open arms and embraced me like a baby. Within seconds we were family. Can you see the smile on my face???
She's a salty old broad who can cuss like a sailor. I like that. She can throw her arms around you, welcome you and make you melt like a 'smore. I like that too. And then she can slide her glasses down her nose and give you that "look". Trust me, you panic when she does that. And then you giggle because you know that she is trying to give you a learning curve. She has taught me to not change the world but to start changing a street corner. It took me awhile, but I realized that it made a LOT more sense.
Dear woman, you have guided me into directions that I didn't even know that I needed to go to. Yeah, head high, shoulders back and all feathers ruffled up. Years before I met you I learned to never look back, which was an uphill battle. You taught me to always look forwards. Yes, the future. Whether we are going to be around to see it happen or not doesn't matter. A street corner. Simply delicious!
You, dear woman, have taught me to fluff up and do what is right, just, true and to do the right thing. I bow to you!!!
You make me sing!!!!
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
DEAR WOMAN, DANCE ON STARS!!!
Yesterday we lost an American icon, Shirley Temple. From a toddler, to a child star, to a young woman who transitioned into adulthood, then walked away from it all and came back a time or two and then became a U.S. Ambassador a couple of times and a council to a President.
You danced with Bill "Mr. Bojangles" Robinson. You were the highest paid child star in Hollywood at the time. You had America wrapped around your finger before you were 6 years old. I love it.
Today, I bid you farewell. You are dancing on stars, I just know it...
Travel safe dear lady. You made me smile. And yes, I overlook the fact that you were a Republican.
Dance and soar!
You danced with Bill "Mr. Bojangles" Robinson. You were the highest paid child star in Hollywood at the time. You had America wrapped around your finger before you were 6 years old. I love it.
Today, I bid you farewell. You are dancing on stars, I just know it...
Travel safe dear lady. You made me smile. And yes, I overlook the fact that you were a Republican.
Dance and soar!
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
IN THE NAME OF MEATLOAF!!!
Dear Goddess, help me!!!
I want to go after Bill Gates, Microsoft and this abhorrent, grey nightmarish thing called Windows 7 with a boat oar. One of those heavy solid hard wood things from the 1960's that had that leading edge made out of brass. I'm just trying to decide who I want to behead first.
I HATE pc's. They are like rotary dial pay phones. On the brown acid! I was lost on Windows XP. The "upgrade" to Windows 7 is nightmarish. I hope to the goddess that I die before I am forced to "upgrade" to Windows 8. Which by the way would make Auschwitz look warm and fuzzy from everything that I have heard.
I am now picking spare change off of the ground, sitting on street corners with my guitar case open and doing impromptu yodeling and stealing candy from toddlers to fill a jar with enough money to buy a new Mac. SO not a happy camper!!! Why in the name of the goddess did the world embrace Microsoft???
Just kill me, I have several boat oars at the ready...
I want to go after Bill Gates, Microsoft and this abhorrent, grey nightmarish thing called Windows 7 with a boat oar. One of those heavy solid hard wood things from the 1960's that had that leading edge made out of brass. I'm just trying to decide who I want to behead first.
I HATE pc's. They are like rotary dial pay phones. On the brown acid! I was lost on Windows XP. The "upgrade" to Windows 7 is nightmarish. I hope to the goddess that I die before I am forced to "upgrade" to Windows 8. Which by the way would make Auschwitz look warm and fuzzy from everything that I have heard.
I am now picking spare change off of the ground, sitting on street corners with my guitar case open and doing impromptu yodeling and stealing candy from toddlers to fill a jar with enough money to buy a new Mac. SO not a happy camper!!! Why in the name of the goddess did the world embrace Microsoft???
Just kill me, I have several boat oars at the ready...
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
WELL, THIS WENT ABOUT AS WELL EXPECTED...
Actually, no, not really. Can you say FUCKING CLUSTER FUCKING FUCK???
As a baseline here I would rather wake up stuck to Ed Asner than deal with a PC. Oh, yeah, by the way, Ed's dead. Not a pretty picture. I am a Mac person. They're just so much easier. And user friendly. Or at least not as ass backwards as a PC. My Mac laptop died about a year and half ago and I started using a PC that was thankfully given to me by a dear friend. I was lost on this thing. Totally clueless. Not a damned thing on it made sense to me. I somehow managed to mangle my way through it though. Thank the goddess for Valium and tequila! Yeah, but wait, it gets worse.
Much to my dismay I was using an OS called Windows XP. Well that poor thing has an expiration date that goes tits up in about a week so I unhappily and unwillingly let Sea Squirt "update" me to Windows 7. That's when all hell broke loose. My computer freaked out. Seems it didn't like Windows 7 in the least bit. Stuff disappeared. Stuff was lost. Could be on Mars as far as I know. Then there is that "conflict" with the graphics disc. I don't even know what the hell a graphics disc is but mine had a melt down. Big time! I had only two options, a monitor display with pixels so damned big that they resembled postage stamps or a display that was about the size of a postage stamp. NOT A HAPPY CAMPER!!! I quickly descended into a dark well of dis pare and grey rage. I threw things. I cussed like a long shore man. Hell, I actually bit a cinder block in half. Yeah, it was that bad. I sent some of the pieces back to Bill Gates with a note that said I hoped that he choked on a turkey!!! From the other end.
Luckily, I have my own private computer geek squad. He is a genius. Sort of like Grandpa Munster down in the laboratory. Lots of interesting things down there in the dark. All he really needs is a trap door in the living room and some dry ice to give the whole thing just the right effect. He not only got "Betsy" back up and running but actually usable. Well, at least to my definition of usable. C'mon, you know me. Email, Google and porn. Not necessarily in that order though.
Luckily I am up to my tits in flash disks so I managed to back up just about everything before the upgrade so over the next 6 or 7 years I may actually be able to re-install all of the shit that Microsoft has managed to wipe in this "upgrade". And then I am going to have "upgrade" to Windows 8. Oh, lord, I just wanna die...
Bill, I hate you and all of your evil minions that live in the cave with you!
As a baseline here I would rather wake up stuck to Ed Asner than deal with a PC. Oh, yeah, by the way, Ed's dead. Not a pretty picture. I am a Mac person. They're just so much easier. And user friendly. Or at least not as ass backwards as a PC. My Mac laptop died about a year and half ago and I started using a PC that was thankfully given to me by a dear friend. I was lost on this thing. Totally clueless. Not a damned thing on it made sense to me. I somehow managed to mangle my way through it though. Thank the goddess for Valium and tequila! Yeah, but wait, it gets worse.
Much to my dismay I was using an OS called Windows XP. Well that poor thing has an expiration date that goes tits up in about a week so I unhappily and unwillingly let Sea Squirt "update" me to Windows 7. That's when all hell broke loose. My computer freaked out. Seems it didn't like Windows 7 in the least bit. Stuff disappeared. Stuff was lost. Could be on Mars as far as I know. Then there is that "conflict" with the graphics disc. I don't even know what the hell a graphics disc is but mine had a melt down. Big time! I had only two options, a monitor display with pixels so damned big that they resembled postage stamps or a display that was about the size of a postage stamp. NOT A HAPPY CAMPER!!! I quickly descended into a dark well of dis pare and grey rage. I threw things. I cussed like a long shore man. Hell, I actually bit a cinder block in half. Yeah, it was that bad. I sent some of the pieces back to Bill Gates with a note that said I hoped that he choked on a turkey!!! From the other end.
Luckily, I have my own private computer geek squad. He is a genius. Sort of like Grandpa Munster down in the laboratory. Lots of interesting things down there in the dark. All he really needs is a trap door in the living room and some dry ice to give the whole thing just the right effect. He not only got "Betsy" back up and running but actually usable. Well, at least to my definition of usable. C'mon, you know me. Email, Google and porn. Not necessarily in that order though.
Luckily I am up to my tits in flash disks so I managed to back up just about everything before the upgrade so over the next 6 or 7 years I may actually be able to re-install all of the shit that Microsoft has managed to wipe in this "upgrade". And then I am going to have "upgrade" to Windows 8. Oh, lord, I just wanna die...
Bill, I hate you and all of your evil minions that live in the cave with you!
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