Who needs LSD when I can just go to bed?

My computer at work was taken away from me this morning for what I can only assume was some sort of emergency surgery. It has been “problematic” for some time now, and recently staged some sort of protest by refusing to turn on in the morning without me making multiple offerings of sacrificial floppy disks and restarting. People were starting to notice because it also demanded that I repeat the mantra “Bill Gates is Allah” during the boot-up process. Which was interesting because I had always presumed my PC was Seventh-Day Adventist, not Muslim.

Anyway, I went for most of the day today without a computer, which was really kind of annoying. Even more annoying was that once I got it back, I had to reload all my preferences, bookmarks, and startup software. Even more annoying is that the clock is wrong. Why is that even more annoying you ask? Simple, because this machine uses Windows NT, I need administrator privileges in order to change the time in any way. Why my systems department feels that the clock is sooo crucial to the successful working of my computer that they forbid anyone else from changing it is beyond me. And before anyone lists all their excellent reasons for doing so, answer this – if it is indeed so crucial, why did they mess it up on the reinstall? At this point I’m too tired, I’ll have someone fix it tomorrow.

Last night I had a dream that I ran into Arnold Schwartzenegger in a shopping mall in London where he was selling some of his paintings. Naturally, I perused them, and while doing so he continued to whip them out one after the other, while at the same time schmoozing with the crowd – ever the salesman. They were contemporary in style, sort of like a combination of
Rothko and Mondrian’s more geometric work. And he was selling each piece for about $300-$500. I found a scrap of canvas in the shape of a Dodge Charger that he had painted but not mounted in a frame that was more reasonably priced. I bought it from him and as I handed over the cash I mentioned that this would actually “…go really well with the Sylvester Stallone original I had at home”. I recall him looking at me as though he didn’t appreciate the comparison, but I don’t recall if he said anything. It was one of the sort if weird dreams that I have on occasion that I really enjoy…


Sophist said…
I dreamt that I saw Arnold S. getting the letter "P' tattooed on his ass in a nail salon, and then the cops came and he hid in the nail polish cabinet. That was a while ago. I wonder how often he shows up in our dreams, that Arnold.