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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Thursday, May 12, 2005

SON OF iPOD 

The new iPOD saw me through a wait at the hospital Xray dept this morning, and behaved impeccably.

The old one had become completely psychotic, wildly obsessed with certain combinations of numbers, and with retitling music. I think .like the migraineur mathematician and the kabalists in the film PI, it was desperately seeking the one perfect number, possibly as a key to becoming sentient.

It was sent off for exchange in a suitable packaging straitjacket.

I`d like to think that Apple has a place where they give disturbed iPods the care they need.

I suspect they do.

It`s called a skip.
Comments:
Hey there...I hope you're feeling better now!
 
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