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So I'm sitting here with nothing much else to do when the alarm goes off. Perhaps I need to go to the dentist for the 2nd time today? Oh no, its just yet another thing I haven't attended to. At some point I'm going to actually remember these little things which make people around me happy, then the sky is going to fall in, or we'll all be taken away by the planet-snatchers and turned into horse-glue.
Awhile ago I remembered being inspired, a wonderful feeling. Knowing that you can take any sort of happening in the world or in your own personal sphere of experience and turn it into a creative outlet. Then again if you're an Internet junkie you can always turn to your IRC quote file for the necessary ideas.
Its a sad day for the world when you realise that any sort of obscurity will make your readers stray, which is where I think its good to make a premise for this story, not that its overly exciting. The life of the sysadmin isn't so much something as glamorous as "Hackers" would have you believe, and I'm not even one of those.
Stupid phones, nothing but annoyance. "Please select from the following fifty-seven options..." the tinny voice rang in my ear. Pressing numeral 5 for the tech support desk upon which I should know all the staff, I bitterly mutter "... or please hold to be totally ignored by a human helpdesk operator." or something along the lines thereof.
Who was the first European to sneak into Mecca? Robert Browsing or someone like that. A virtuoso of living and all that Jazz, wrote 50 novels, tremendous womaniser, chronic drinker and habitual smoker. You know, all that stuff that you'd want to have done by the time you reached your 154th birthday, he'd done when he was 25. The sky's not even the limit, for those sort of people, no wonder jealous idiots assassinate them on their 30th birthdays.
Instead of making the phone call, wouldn't it be better to wander into the nearest Telstra shop and get things done face-to-face with someone? Perhaps that might be better, especially if they're convinced that you are about to kill them, or worse yet get them fired. I've heard the best story about a close friend h4x0ring a Telstra shop, and more than likely getting everyone in trouble simply by the addition of a valid DNS server to the config. Hoorah! The sooner the world moves to IPv6 and nobody can remember actual addresses the worse for all the script-kiddies in the world.
Reading about the infamous fools like Mafiaboy makes me quite nervous, nay, nauseous. But then again, if that's the way I'm spending my time on the internet, I probably need to re-evaluate my motives for doing what I'm doing right at this particular moment anyway.
So I hung up, and started to write...
Awhile ago I remembered being inspired, a wonderful feeling. Knowing that you can take any sort of happening in the world or in your own personal sphere of experience and turn it into a creative outlet. Then again if you're an Internet junkie you can always turn to your IRC quote file for the necessary ideas.
Its a sad day for the world when you realise that any sort of obscurity will make your readers stray, which is where I think its good to make a premise for this story, not that its overly exciting. The life of the sysadmin isn't so much something as glamorous as "Hackers" would have you believe, and I'm not even one of those.
Stupid phones, nothing but annoyance. "Please select from the following fifty-seven options..." the tinny voice rang in my ear. Pressing numeral 5 for the tech support desk upon which I should know all the staff, I bitterly mutter "... or please hold to be totally ignored by a human helpdesk operator." or something along the lines thereof.
Who was the first European to sneak into Mecca? Robert Browsing or someone like that. A virtuoso of living and all that Jazz, wrote 50 novels, tremendous womaniser, chronic drinker and habitual smoker. You know, all that stuff that you'd want to have done by the time you reached your 154th birthday, he'd done when he was 25. The sky's not even the limit, for those sort of people, no wonder jealous idiots assassinate them on their 30th birthdays.
Instead of making the phone call, wouldn't it be better to wander into the nearest Telstra shop and get things done face-to-face with someone? Perhaps that might be better, especially if they're convinced that you are about to kill them, or worse yet get them fired. I've heard the best story about a close friend h4x0ring a Telstra shop, and more than likely getting everyone in trouble simply by the addition of a valid DNS server to the config. Hoorah! The sooner the world moves to IPv6 and nobody can remember actual addresses the worse for all the script-kiddies in the world.
Reading about the infamous fools like Mafiaboy makes me quite nervous, nay, nauseous. But then again, if that's the way I'm spending my time on the internet, I probably need to re-evaluate my motives for doing what I'm doing right at this particular moment anyway.
So I hung up, and started to write...
