At the last Sequential Salon, a lot of people were complaing about how the cursor on their laptop would jump from one spot to another. While using Jill's netbook, I had the same experience, and decided to find a solution.
Start Menu > Control Panel > Mouse
"But I'm not using a mouse, I'm using a touch pad" you say.
Trust the fuckhead.
On the window that pops up, select the Device Settings tab. Look for a Settings or Properties button. Make the touchpad less sensitive. If there is a PalmCheck feature, set it to maximum. Disable the Pinch and Momentum options. That should do it, but look at all the other little tweaks you can make in case the ones I mentioned don't correspond to your particular setup.
I hope this works for you. If not, maybe it'll set you on the right path.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Goodbye, Sivvie
Jill has had Sivvie, a grey tabby/calico mix, since kittenhood. She wasn't a fun cat, in my experience. Very much like Bucky in the comic strip Get Fuzzy. She didn't like to be touched, except on the top of her head and around her mouth. If you walked within 20 feet of her, she'd hiss at you. If you walked past her, your ankles would bleed mysteriously.
She did love the laser pointer, though. That was an instant hit.
She loved climbing up the couch in the most inconvenient way possible: up the side, where laptop computers and wine glasses and knitting projects were placed. And if you tried to clear the path for her, teeth, claws and blood were in your future.
Despite all that, Sivvie seemed to like me better than most people. And that's not counting the weekend she was in heat and demanded attention from me. Even though she hated me, I still loved her.
About two weeks ago, she lost her appetite, and was congested. She stopped moving around as much, and way less vocal (she talked A LOT). Jill got worried, but took it in stride. Last weekend we started to force feed her, but she lost so much weight that her bones were sticking out. She got stronger, but not better.
We brought her to the animal hospital on 6th Avenue & Union Street in Brooklyn on Saturday. Just by feeling her, the doctor knew it was very bad. The x-rays showed that her entire abdomen was full of fluid. You couldn't see any of her organs through it. The doctor left us alone for a while. Sivvie seemed to be aware of and accepted what was going on, and started to purr. Jill held Sivvie, and I held Jill while she decided what to do.
She decided that it's a quality of life issue for Sivvie. Any sort of treatment would just be prolonging the inevitable, and most of that time would be painful.
The doctor came in and gave Sivvie a powerful sedative. We cried, said our goodbyes and I love yous, and held her as it slowly took effect, purring all the while. She eventually fell asleep. We left the room, and the doctor administered the second drug.
Jill should get the ashes within the week.
She did love the laser pointer, though. That was an instant hit.
She loved climbing up the couch in the most inconvenient way possible: up the side, where laptop computers and wine glasses and knitting projects were placed. And if you tried to clear the path for her, teeth, claws and blood were in your future.
Despite all that, Sivvie seemed to like me better than most people. And that's not counting the weekend she was in heat and demanded attention from me. Even though she hated me, I still loved her.
About two weeks ago, she lost her appetite, and was congested. She stopped moving around as much, and way less vocal (she talked A LOT). Jill got worried, but took it in stride. Last weekend we started to force feed her, but she lost so much weight that her bones were sticking out. She got stronger, but not better.
We brought her to the animal hospital on 6th Avenue & Union Street in Brooklyn on Saturday. Just by feeling her, the doctor knew it was very bad. The x-rays showed that her entire abdomen was full of fluid. You couldn't see any of her organs through it. The doctor left us alone for a while. Sivvie seemed to be aware of and accepted what was going on, and started to purr. Jill held Sivvie, and I held Jill while she decided what to do.
She decided that it's a quality of life issue for Sivvie. Any sort of treatment would just be prolonging the inevitable, and most of that time would be painful.
The doctor came in and gave Sivvie a powerful sedative. We cried, said our goodbyes and I love yous, and held her as it slowly took effect, purring all the while. She eventually fell asleep. We left the room, and the doctor administered the second drug.
Jill should get the ashes within the week.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Quick, what's the number for 911?
I had a nice weekend planned. Jill was coming over, and I had three new recipes I know she'd like. Her palette is more savory than mine, and I'm not much a foodie unless it's a dessert. Things were going quite well. We fell asleep around 2:30 AM on Sunday.
I woke up around 8:30 with the worst pain I've ever felt, in my lower left abdomen - automatically ruled out appendicitis. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes just in case, and looked for a local hospital that would accept my insurance. After that success, I woke up a hung-over Jill, told her what was happening, and called for an ambulance.
We were dropped off in the emergency room at Mount Sinai here in Astoria. And we waited.
And we waited.
And got pushed around to triage.
And we waited.
And I dry-heaved.
And we waited.
And I was crying in pain and dehydration.
And we waited.
And I dry-heaved a few more times.
And we waited.
And we waited.
I got looked over, given an IV drip, with drugs for nausea, and two doses of sweet, sweet morphine. The first had no effect, the second was bliss. It cut the pain in half (yay!) and made me woozy & sleepy. I called my parents while the second dose kicked in. It seemed like the right thing to do.
And we waited.
And we waited.
I got wheeled over to the CaT scan lab, and Jill went to get something to eat so she didn't pass out from low blood sugar.
And I waited.
I'd never had a CaT scan before. There's a lot of holding your breath involved. The second time through, I couldn't hold it long enough. It didn't screw anything up, but I was worried I'd have to do it again. But I didn't, so I was wheeled into the hall.
And I waited.
Then I was wheeled into the ICU. Jill was there sipping coffee.
And we waited for the results.
And we waited.
And we waited.
The doctor finally came in with prescriptions and a diagnosis: a three-millimeter kidney stone. I was soon discharged, though still woozy from the sweet, sweet morphine, which I'd never had before today.
I absolutely understand why people would abuse morphine.
Anyway, we went across the street, got the prescriptions filled. Jill had gone to get cash to a cab while I waited for the drugs. Then there was a rumblin' in my tummy, and dry-heaved yet again. The pharmacist was kind enough to let me use the bathroom as I felt it coming up. The placed closed up, and I waited for Jill outside. We called for a car, and we were home by 4:30.
Called my folks to let them know the story, and found out my dad is smoking again. Within the past week or so.
I took some drugs, and fell asleep. My own snoring woke me up a couple of times, but was up for good at 8:30. I slowly hydrated, shook off the wooziness, and took one of the pain killers.
I feel good now, but I'm dreading the moment when the stone passes through.
I woke up around 8:30 with the worst pain I've ever felt, in my lower left abdomen - automatically ruled out appendicitis. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes just in case, and looked for a local hospital that would accept my insurance. After that success, I woke up a hung-over Jill, told her what was happening, and called for an ambulance.
We were dropped off in the emergency room at Mount Sinai here in Astoria. And we waited.
And we waited.
And got pushed around to triage.
And we waited.
And I dry-heaved.
And we waited.
And I was crying in pain and dehydration.
And we waited.
And I dry-heaved a few more times.
And we waited.
And we waited.
I got looked over, given an IV drip, with drugs for nausea, and two doses of sweet, sweet morphine. The first had no effect, the second was bliss. It cut the pain in half (yay!) and made me woozy & sleepy. I called my parents while the second dose kicked in. It seemed like the right thing to do.
And we waited.
And we waited.
I got wheeled over to the CaT scan lab, and Jill went to get something to eat so she didn't pass out from low blood sugar.
And I waited.
I'd never had a CaT scan before. There's a lot of holding your breath involved. The second time through, I couldn't hold it long enough. It didn't screw anything up, but I was worried I'd have to do it again. But I didn't, so I was wheeled into the hall.
And I waited.
Then I was wheeled into the ICU. Jill was there sipping coffee.
And we waited for the results.
And we waited.
And we waited.
The doctor finally came in with prescriptions and a diagnosis: a three-millimeter kidney stone. I was soon discharged, though still woozy from the sweet, sweet morphine, which I'd never had before today.
I absolutely understand why people would abuse morphine.
Anyway, we went across the street, got the prescriptions filled. Jill had gone to get cash to a cab while I waited for the drugs. Then there was a rumblin' in my tummy, and dry-heaved yet again. The pharmacist was kind enough to let me use the bathroom as I felt it coming up. The placed closed up, and I waited for Jill outside. We called for a car, and we were home by 4:30.
Called my folks to let them know the story, and found out my dad is smoking again. Within the past week or so.
I took some drugs, and fell asleep. My own snoring woke me up a couple of times, but was up for good at 8:30. I slowly hydrated, shook off the wooziness, and took one of the pain killers.
I feel good now, but I'm dreading the moment when the stone passes through.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Dear DC Direct:
Please make toys of the following characters/designs:
Lady Blackhawk, most recently revived by the awesome Gail Simone in her run of Birds of Prey:
Power Girl, from the JLI/JLE years of the 90s:
Zauriel, from Grant Morrison's run on JLA:
Prometheus, also from Grant Morrison's JLA run:
Connor Hawke as Green Arrow, who had the simple misfortune of writers not knowing what to do with him:
Black Lighting, of the woefully short run of the 90s:
And Aztek, an excellent character with a very cool design:
PS - All your sculpts, especially the female characters, are too damn leggy. See All-Star Super-Lois. Good grief.
Dear DC Comics:
George Perez, Jim Aparo, Jim Lee, John Byrne, and Ed Benes are shitty, shitty, shitty costume designers. It wouldn't kill you to give Black Canary her Gary Frank/Greg Land costume design back, nor Huntress her circa-No Man's Land costume back, either. There's a reason besides rarity that the Birds of Prey toy set is selling for $300+ on eBay. And please put the green back in Robin's costume. It just looks dull, flat, and dead.
Lady Blackhawk, most recently revived by the awesome Gail Simone in her run of Birds of Prey:
Power Girl, from the JLI/JLE years of the 90s:
Zauriel, from Grant Morrison's run on JLA:
Prometheus, also from Grant Morrison's JLA run:
Connor Hawke as Green Arrow, who had the simple misfortune of writers not knowing what to do with him:
Black Lighting, of the woefully short run of the 90s:
And Aztek, an excellent character with a very cool design:
PS - All your sculpts, especially the female characters, are too damn leggy. See All-Star Super-Lois. Good grief.
Dear DC Comics:
George Perez, Jim Aparo, Jim Lee, John Byrne, and Ed Benes are shitty, shitty, shitty costume designers. It wouldn't kill you to give Black Canary her Gary Frank/Greg Land costume design back, nor Huntress her circa-No Man's Land costume back, either. There's a reason besides rarity that the Birds of Prey toy set is selling for $300+ on eBay. And please put the green back in Robin's costume. It just looks dull, flat, and dead.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
High School Crush/Porn Star sleeps with Tiger Woods
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Incidents of Incompetence
Ever since our hours were cut at work, I've been the last one to come in to the office. There are three people in pre-press. One comes in at 8 AM, the other at 8:30, and me at 9. Being the "new" guy and lowest on the totem pole, I have to tend to certain maintenance tasks. There's a huge plate maker in the room that is highly sensitive to temperature and humidity (or so they tell me; evidence is to the contrary). Before any work is done, there are five humidifiers that need to be filled. I can't exactly do that before getting to work. It's not that I mind doing it, but there was a two-month stretch where I didn't even bother.
No one noticed.
Another oddity is when a super-rush job is waiting on my desk, long before I come in, with a note saying "plates due at 9 AM."
Someone sure missed the Logic Train. How can I do a job that's due when I clock in?
Speaking of clocking in: right next to the hand print scanner used to punch in and out is a hand-sanitizer dispenser. Not a totally bad idea during flu season, but it might help to, you know, fill it with the hand-sanitizer. I don't care too much; all of our immune systems need practice.
One more story for the Fail File:
Bellevue has an automatic system for refilling prescriptions. Just call in, and 3 business days later, it'll be ready for pickup. I made the call last Wednesday, and went to pick up the refill Monday afternoon. Go in, take a number, get called to the window, they pass the pills on to the pick up department and give you a voucher to take to the cashier. This takes around 10 or 20 minutes. Then you get called to the pickup window five minutes later. For some reason, this last bit too two fucking miserable hours. Imagine 50 people (that's right, 50 people, no exaggeration) waiting in a room no larger than the size of your living room with seating for 16, waiting at least two hours to pick up medicine. One person was waiting for five hours and was quite rightly throwing a shit-fit.
My blood sugar had plummeted by the end of that ordeal, so I stopped at the au bon pan stand in the hospital. I picked up an eggplant & tomato sandwich, paid, and walked away, tearing at the wrapper. I took a giant bite, chewed, and spat it out.
Great. Ham & Swiss. Walked back, said the label was wrong, and before I could say anything else, the cashier correctly guessed that I was a veggie, and profusely apologized. I got the correct sandwich, and finally left. It was such a tiring day.
No one noticed.
Another oddity is when a super-rush job is waiting on my desk, long before I come in, with a note saying "plates due at 9 AM."
Someone sure missed the Logic Train. How can I do a job that's due when I clock in?
Speaking of clocking in: right next to the hand print scanner used to punch in and out is a hand-sanitizer dispenser. Not a totally bad idea during flu season, but it might help to, you know, fill it with the hand-sanitizer. I don't care too much; all of our immune systems need practice.
One more story for the Fail File:
Bellevue has an automatic system for refilling prescriptions. Just call in, and 3 business days later, it'll be ready for pickup. I made the call last Wednesday, and went to pick up the refill Monday afternoon. Go in, take a number, get called to the window, they pass the pills on to the pick up department and give you a voucher to take to the cashier. This takes around 10 or 20 minutes. Then you get called to the pickup window five minutes later. For some reason, this last bit too two fucking miserable hours. Imagine 50 people (that's right, 50 people, no exaggeration) waiting in a room no larger than the size of your living room with seating for 16, waiting at least two hours to pick up medicine. One person was waiting for five hours and was quite rightly throwing a shit-fit.
My blood sugar had plummeted by the end of that ordeal, so I stopped at the au bon pan stand in the hospital. I picked up an eggplant & tomato sandwich, paid, and walked away, tearing at the wrapper. I took a giant bite, chewed, and spat it out.
Great. Ham & Swiss. Walked back, said the label was wrong, and before I could say anything else, the cashier correctly guessed that I was a veggie, and profusely apologized. I got the correct sandwich, and finally left. It was such a tiring day.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
The Sports Team From My Area...
If it isn't clear already, I don't care about sports.
Now, THAT people play sports doesn't bother me at all. Hey, they're having fun, blowing off steam, bonding, learning teamwork, etc; all that stuff is cool by me.
It's the national league, city/state pride, obsessive, jock-off, micro-dick-ism of sports fans that piss me off.
That wouldn't be so bad if these assholes across the street didn't feel the need to set off firecrackers at midnight, shouting "WE WON! WE WON!"
I'm trying to figure out what it is that "we" won, and when to expect my prize in the mail. I don't remember participating in any sort of contest, or accomplishing anything that would merit such a display of misplaced pride while many others in the 'hood are trying to sleep.
First, let's look at local pride. George Carlin:
Now, if you're happy that your favorite team won a game, fine. Can't argue with that.
But the phrase is, "WE WON!" That implies that "we" had something to do with the team winning, and the coincidence of proximity unites us.
Since "we" sat on the couch getting drunk (or completely ignored the event), that hardly contributed to the team winning.
The next idea taken for granted is the coincidence of proximity, or the "we". Sure, my neighbors and I are New Yorkers. But how many of us were born locally? My roommate was born in Hawai'i and intends to return there. Does she count as a New Yorker? I was born upstate. I at least have that credential.
How many of the 49 NY Yankees were born in, or currently live in NY State, or within 50 miles of New York City, particularly the Bronx? After a cursory search through Wikipedia...
1) Pitcher CC Sabathia lives in Bergen County, New Jersey.
2) Pitcher Mariano Rivera co-owns a restaurant in New Rochelle, NY.
3) Short Stop Derek Jeter was born in Morris County, NJ. He has homes in Manhattan, Marlboro NJ, Greenwood Lake NY, and Tampa FL.
4) Third Baseman Alex Rodriguez (whose name I refuse to abbreviate to what the press calls him) was born in Manhattan, and still lives there.
5) First Baseman Mark Teixiera lives in Greewich, CT. (Not to be confused with cartoonist & illustrator Mark Texiera.)
6) Designated Hitter Hideki Matsui lives in Manhattan.
7) Pitcher Chien-Ming Wang lives in Bergen County, NJ.
Those are the only team players, active, inactive, coaches, whatever, that I could find evidence of living in/near NYC. 1/7th, or just over 14%, of the Bronx Bombers have any sort of proximity affiliation with The Bronx. The number may be higher; perhaps I didn't dig deep enough - I certainly don't care enough to do so.
How they can be "New York" Yankees if most of them aren't even New Yorkers, or even from the tri-state area? How can "we" have local pride about people who don't have anything but a badge to do with the area?
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