No, it's not a '57; it's an Epiphone "Gibson". And it's powder blue (except that it's really more 'toned-down metallic azure'). And my wife who doesn't know a humbucker from a fuddrucker loves me enough to have got it for me.

One sentence. That was all it took.

In a country with 220V standard I have 40 amps. In my almost-built kitchen. And in my attic where my office is about to be (If onlyy my wife knnew what a 29" Rack was!!). And in my basement with the dozen pinball machines. Each one needing 8-12 to start but worioking on 4-6.

"It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead."

There are things which are important to my wife, like cleanliness and answering a particular piece of mail and maybe that  mouldy thing in the back of the fridge which could kill her. There are things which are important to me, like restoring the Medieval Madness pinball machine. And there are things which are important to our daughter. But like the Terminator, the Puppy can't be reasoned with.

After almost three full weeks as an in-patient I'm finally home in the new home I haven't spent a full week in yet. The cause has been found and while eminently treatable, is a rare form which is much less likely to fuck off and go into remission.

I'm finally home with my girls. Thanks for all your good wishes. Answers to questions in SS' diary below. Also a poll.

Wife's computer destroyed by MBR-eating malware that shut down the machine within 15sec. of trying to run WinXP repair. But the conversion didn't go so well.

Need to recover files.

For no really good reason sugar spun and I decided to fuck off to Berlin with the puppy in tow for a few days to meet up with various friends including Hulver and rebound rabbit. It was the second time in the capital city for both of us.

We found out what we already knew: we really like living in Munich.

I wanted to do "attention wes..." and couldn't be arsed to finish the sentence because this meme is probably worn out. I was also going to try "Help me, HuSi Wan Kenobi" but I hate Wars' references even more than Esther's old gig.

I need a new phone. NOW.

It used to be that all you had to do was make a fist, turn your arm inwards, and tap at your wrist with your other hand's index finger and a dozen people would tell you what time it was. Now? If you do it people are more likely to treat you like you just stepped off the short bus. It seems to apply to everyone at the tail end of the Baby Boom and younger.

Do you wear a wristwatch? I sure as hell don't. Most of us have to pull our cell phones out of our pockets to check the time. This is clearly much more work than twisting our wrists but we no longer have to carry a chunk of technology on our arms.

Go into your kitchen. Pour out a glass of milk. Tip the glass over and pour all that milk on the floor. Now do it again. That's a pint. Do it 14 more times in a row. As neat a package as a gallon of milk might be, it's a surprisingly large amount of liquid when you see it on the floor. That's how much blood a sub-250-pound human has inside. Normally.

This one's no happier than aph's Jury Duty and while a bit expository, considerably less informative. You may wish to ignore.