I can’t say it better that John Siracusa at Ars Technica… Stacks suck.

All I can add is that the Stacks feature in the shipping version of Leopard is not what was demonstrated at MacWorld all those moons ago. We were teased with making new stacks at will from random sections of items dragged from the Finder - nope, the coolest thing about them didn’t make it into the final release.

I’m reminded of Obi-Wan’s exasperated speech to the newly-christened Lord Vader at the end of Revenge Of The Sith. Stacks were supposed to bring balance to the Force and destroy the Sith; not join them (only to be defeated eventually by their own nitwit son and a band of monkey-puppy-bears.

How’s that for nerd? Computers and Star Wars in a single post. Please don’t tell anyone.

I mean, surely Oreos wouldn’t be “milk’s favorite cookie” if they were bad for you… I mean, this is milk we’re talking about.

I know there are many beverages (iced tea comes to mind) whose integrity is never certain. You never know quite where you stand with cranberry juice, for instance. But milk, wholesome milk, surely is above reproach.

I’m positive that the dairy industry would not compromise their principles, nor would the cows involved. Milk is on the level; I can feel it in my strong bones and healthy teeth.

This just in: notmilk.com. Apparently milk does stretch the truth now and then. Luckily I haven’t touched the stuff in decades.

I don’t think this should hurt anybody’s appreciation of good old Oreo cookies, though. That’s some good cookie.

And I can now look absolutely horrific in much smaller pants. In fact, I now look awful in the very trousers that I looked barely acceptable in 2 or 3 years ago!

Thank you, Tea Tree Therapy Cinnamon Toothpicks (instead of a delicious snack)! If only you would stop burning my lips!

The upcoming Mac OS X 10.5 “Leopard”… will be very handy when it stops crashing.

I can give few specifics, though I’m not tied by any formal non-disclosure agreement. Let’s just say I don’t wish to discuss why I know what I know, and leave it at that.

Small LAN users (home network, small business) who frequently share files between computers will appreciate the new Finder. Ditto those who like to search visually for files; the new “Flow” view is great for pictures and movies. I can see “Quick Look” eventually becoming one of those little Mac OS perks I can’t remember how I lived without.

What else… I haven’t tried a whole lot of applications yet… but I’m open to requests. Some of the fancy new features in iChat seem to be… “missing” from the beta I’m using, for example “Backdrops”. Mail has some very fancy new features (notes, to-dos) but the built-in activity viewer (an optional, and somewhat buried, separate window in 10.4 Tiger) is reason enough for me to upgrade. Safari is snappy, bla bla bla exciting new features, but… (and this is a big but, think J. Lo, and then add a dozen Krispy Kremes a day for a year and a week) as 10.5 does away with Input Manager (yeah, whatever that means) that means no more Inquisitor, one of the main reasons to use Safari in the first place. I may have to rethink this whole early adopter thing.

Incidentally, it’s running on a Dual 1.25GHz G4, no troubles with performance (stability, that’s another story).

Now, what else would you like to know?

I know I haven’t updated in some time; I’ve been avoiding the internet until I was pretty sure the Chocolate Rain thing was over.

My last post seemed to imply that I never listen to music, or at least you may have inferred that from the statement I made about never listening to music. If you’ve been following along (and I know you haven’t, nobody actually reads this, except you, and just this once), you’ll know that I recently found myself in the sudden and dire predicament of being a big fat guy. So, when I’m not turning (the same 3) fresh vegetables (every time) and great slabs of meat into low-karb meisterwerks, I’m down at the YMCA* working out with my damn iPod.

If nothing else, the iPod is a reason I can never truly hate Apple Inc. I tell you, when you’re in the zone on the elliptical fitness machine, and Kim Shattuck’s screaming in your damn ear, it all make sense. McDonald’s should buy stock in Apple—every super-size is a potential future iPod sale to some big piggy trying to make the exercise bike friendlier.

*I heard it’s fun to stay there.

And speaking of Apple, apparently they also make computers, as well as phones and music players. If you have one, you can make this site hurt your eyes less by the key combination Apple+Option+Control+8. I neither know nor care whether Windows has a similar feature.

Speaking of Fats Waller (who apparently stayed Fat because he found exercise boring, without being able to listen to music while he used the Stairmaster), I just heard that song, and, well, it’s a little cleverer than The Damned. But that’s not Damning the Damned with faint praise, it’s still the Best Damned Love Song to come out of England’s first wave of punk.

The best way to judge a punk rock bass player is by the length of his strap. Or any bass player, for that matter. those “bow-tie bass” types, with the really short straps and too many notes, they’ve obviously gone to school way too long to make good music.

Speaking of music, I was just listening to some, which I almost never do unless I’m being paid to learn something*, and you know what? The Damned’s “Love Song” has just that kind of punk rock bass that I do treasure so dearly… I don’t even know if it’s Captain Sensible or Algae whatshisname or even Lemmy Kilmeister, but sheet, bro, that sounds like a long-ass strap. I mean after the false intro, right after the “hey man, what’s happening?”

Maybe that song’s not “punk” enough for you. Try listening to it with a safety pin in your eye; works for me. I also love the way it lyrically references Fats Waller’s charming “Porter’s Love Song To A Chambermaid” which I used to sing to very old people in very expensive restaurants.

Go listen to some music kids! It’s great (in small doses)!

Both songs mentioned are buried somewhere in this finetune playlist:

*I believe this may be related to the curious mental block that restricts me from playing guitar off the clock. Ever. I’m nearly positive I used to enjoy it a great deal…

It’s not Good News when you can’t wear your “fat pants” without a belt. It’s just Very Bad News when you can.

One thing’s for sure. I have a lot more inertia than I used to. So, watch out, step aside, etc.

There is good news, though. Once you’ve been puffy for a while, people around you start to mistake “better” for “good”; as in: “you look so goo-ood” (when you lost 3 pounds). What they really mean is you look “better” as in “not as bad”.

My theory is that anybody can look “good” at, say, 300lbs. – so long as you do 6 months or so at 450. An enterprising fatty might even fake it: wear several pillows under big baggy clothes, tight collars that push your neck flab up into view more prominently, etc. Folks will fall all over themselves telling you how great you look the day you show up without the extra padding.

Me, I’m almost done with the experiment. My heart’s not in it anymore. I was curious to see how big I would get (especially comical was my extremely fat-phobic wife’s silent agony) but it feels too awful. My knee gave out, my wardrobe gave up, and I never even cracked 200 (by the bathroom scale, which I always found to be kindest). Also, I’ve tasted some results from dieting and exercise, and now I’m obsessed with trying to recapture some of the glory of my youth. My hopelessness, which had served me so well at the buffet, is all but gone, as I redirect my obsession to counting carbs and minutes on the elliptical machine.

I guess I’ll move onto fretting about my hairline next. And I’m going to be 40. Well, not soon, but I will, someday.

My wife was concerned that my undershirts were getting too… short - until I assured her they weren’t undershirts at all, but sports bras for my back fat*.

Though I haven’t yet cracked the 200 pound barrier (which some describe as liberating), I can no longer convince myself “that would never happen to me,” when I see my porky brothers-and-sisters-from-other-mothers-and-misters weighing in at 300, 400 and above. If only I’d started sooner, who knows?

I think I know how it happens:
Today, I’m a soft, doughy, unattractive, schlep. If I were to cut out all flavorful foods, frolic and sweat until I fainted several times a week, in several weeks time, I’d be a soft, doughy, unattractive, schlep. Conversely, if I were to pursue my pudding and bacon diet to the very gates of cardiac arrest, while lying on the floor watching television, by this time next month I’d be… a soft, doughy, unattractive, schlep. Once your signicant other finds you repulsive, we’re really only talking about degrees here, people.

So now I’m “doing something about it”. That’s positifproactifspeak for futilely pining for french fries. I’m comparing prices on beef jerky. When I stop in a little Mexican carnicería, I can’t help checking out their pork rind selection, to see if they’ve got a brand or flavor that I don’t already know for certain is repulsive. Atkins is some rough stuff, especially the way I do it. I may die from the cholesterol before I reach my target weight.

Incidentally, my target weight is “once again being able to look bad in my old clothes”. That’s really what it’s about… the clothes. It’s like the day I quit smoking, somebody broke into my house and stole all my bitchen threads.

So now I’m eating club house salads. Basically, anything without the bread. Or the potato, or the noodles, or the rice, or the couscous, or the stovetop stuffing. Hold the side orders.

I’m also a proud member of the Hollywood YMCA. But that’s a whole other story. Actually several.

*I have a theory that undershirts only come in one “size” but different lengths

there should be some vicious deterrent for spelling “ridiculous” as “rediculous”.

Or perhaps a lovely prize, like a golden dunce cap, to match the irony of how “rediculous” someone’s argument looks when they start by misspelling “ridiculous”.

In other news, what is my 6-year-old daughter’s new fascination with Chopin’s Funeral March? So creepy.