In Which Spell Checkers Are Not Always The Thing

Spell-checkers aren't the friends you think they are;
They cannot tell you if you've used the right
Word where you should, or if you've gone too far
Describing something when you've taken flight
Imagining. And then there's homonyms,
Those pesky words that all might sound the same
Like "might" and "mite" or all the "to's", the "hims"
That you've replaced with "their" when, no, a name
Won't do again, but you don't want to seem
A sexist scribe. But "their" is plural. Too,
Watch out for transpositions that are deemed
As words in their own right, but aren't what you
Are wanting. "Solider" and "soldier" - such
Mean very diff'rent things. Alas, too much!

Pm Ejovj O {pmfrt Yu[pd. Noh Smf D,s;;

My fingers know I'm screwing up, e'en if
My eyes don't recognize the dumb mistakes
I've made while typing? I'll buy that as, stiff
Or nimble, fly my digits. My mind quakes
Whene'er I think of how those fingers know
What letter's where on QWERTY's dumb array,
How, just as long as they start on home row
They get it right (unless Mind finds a way
To interfere). I'm like the centipede
Of fables cognitive; please do not ask
How I can do this work when there's a need;
'Tis best that I have farmed out this dull task
To a more autonomic-type regime.
My brain's not always smartest; this I deem.

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Contribute To A Genre

The choice to use this software's freely yours
As this and this proclaim. You needn't pay;
That's not our ethos. But, within the source
Please keep this license there, intact. That way
All credit goes where credit needs to be
For its creation (if binary's your pick,
This rule applies there, too). And if you see
A bug or two, remember not to sic
Your goons on he who wrote it; that is not
Within the spirit of a GPL.
And please, recall that just because you've got
An author's code within your stuff, that's well
And good, but don't imply endorsement when
You tell 'em where it's from or where it's been.

In Which You Learn About Inform 7

My reading for this day's been feather-light,
As I begin to teach myself a new
Computer language. I have plans to write
Some games in it, in hopes that someday you
Will play them. There's still ought to be desired:
This seventh version of Inform still leans
Toward the second person - it's still mired,
The IF tribe, in dogma that the means
Toward player immersion's in address;
The player must be "you." The disconnect
This generates is unnoticed, I guess,
By those who've long been members of this sect,
Accustomed to its foibles. I, though, move
That Paul and have something, now, to prove.

QuodRod LIVES

Computer-building feels like it's an art

More than a science. I am Frankenstein

And monster both. Today I chose to start

A-using it, this thing I've built; it's fine

But has some flaws yet. First of all, no sound,

Though I know what to do when next I'm free

To play with it some more, to fool around

With parts and drivers. More importantly

It works for writing, as this sonnet shows,

The premiere composition on the beast.

Now, though, my houseguests beckon. So it goes.

It's almost time to drink, scarf down a feast

And plan tomorrow's outings. So, adieu,

E'en though I've yet some tinkering to do.

In Which It Is ALIVE!

I haven't built since Nineteen Ninety-Four,

But as completion looms, I wonder why.

I really cannot think of much that's more

Rewarding than to build from base parts my

Computer! I feel silly, though; it's flash

With all those LEDs. The gaudy type

I really am not often. Do they clash,

The red and blue? The front doth bring a gripe:

I still want clear drive panel covers, so

If anyone can help me find some, please,

I'll be more grateful than you'll ever know!

The silver, well, will do at least, and ease

Is what I need right now for the next bit:

To set it up for Snow Leopard! Oh, shit!

In Which I Gloat Over A Partial Success And Reflect On The Character Flaw It Revealed

Were I as patient with my fellow man

As I am with a motherboard, some screws,

A graphics card, a processor, a fan

(Or three), it's very possible I'd choose

To be a social worker. As it is,

Deep breathing only and a will to try

Again when tiny screws were dropped -- such biz

As this and only this sufficed. Oh my,

I won't say it was easy; I've not built

A PC since the early nineties. Plus,

'Tis far from over yet. All still could tilt

When I first turn it on and have to fuss

With BIOS settings, for, you see, I will

Be making this a Hackintosh. The thrill!

In Which I Am Slightly Handicapped

Some metal and some velcro form a case
Of fabric 'round my wrist which I dislike,
Though it's for my own good -- this I must face
Each time it hits the wrong key and a spike
Of rage appears within my cranky brain.
I've logged off in the midst of taking down
Important words, and unexpected pain
Has made me use the language on which frown
My overlords. But all could be much worse!
Naught's broken and the dominant's intact
(My left is caged; the right is free). I nurse
No grudges, though it's true I oft react
As though I did. I simply must wait for
These tissues to heal up, and nothing more.

In Which The IsoCore Shall Have A Western Brother

This looks more like a spaceship flown by Borg

Than a computer, I'm first to admit.

Ere my laptop is shipped off to the morgue,

Though, I must poise to replace it.

I want one to play games on and to keep

Ungodly files of media, and that suits

My strange aesthetic, so I shall go deep

Into the hardware catalog: the roots

Of PC architecture I know well,

Though it's been fourteen years since last I built

A new computer, I say what the hell,

And lo shall I go at the plan full-tilt.

I've chosen a processor and a case

As you may see above. So starts the chase!

In Which A Conversation Is Continued

A Twittering, sad panda showed me this,

To use the net and be depressed are linked,

This work suggests. I follow there my bliss,

Though sometimes am made sad, to be succinct

(As sonnets and as tweets require). But, see,

Depression far predates computers in

Both human and in pers'nal history.

A stigma still exists, a taint of sin

Still hovers over mouseclicks done instead

Of "real life." But on this point I've got news:

That life is life, in body or in head

No matter how you spend the time. I choose

To pass a lot of time with those I've not

Met in the flesh; I gloat at what I've got.

In Which I Squee For Star Trek Online

A tiny box of squee arrived today,

Star Trek Online, a time sink nonpareil

I'm sure, or will be when I get to play

(Th'initial patch is taking quite a while;

Release day and the fanboys and fangirls

Are signing on in droves to make their start).

Oh, my delight when the first screen unfurls,

You'll surely hear from far away. My heart

Is full. An MMORPG's not

A thing I've ever played; this is the first

I've wanted to. It's Star Trek, though! That's hot!

And even if as games go it's the worst

E'en so shall I play till I hurt my wrist

Unto the point I cannot make a fist.

In Which, In All Seriousness, I Do In Fact Rejoice With Chris Butler At His Creation

At last we reach the day in which SkyNet
First comes to life. Of course it's IsoBan,
Called Valian, who built it. Now we'll get
What's coming to us, once he turns it on.
We can't say we weren't warned; he's shared with us
The IsoCore 9000's ev'ry pang
Towards birthing. Now it's far too late to fuss.
He says it boots up fast; we all can hang
Who trust it not. Just hear his "Muhaha!"
As IsoCore doth reach out for the web.
I hope it won't absorb its master. Ah,
I'm proud with him but how soon pride can ebb,
Warped into fear, misunderstanding, and
A frenzied panic spreading o'er the land...

In Which There Is A Flapple Over Apple

The deed was done a year ago; the news
Came from the Patent Office last month, and
Was in the New York Times today. "Let's fuse
Our lovely tech with advertising! Grand!"
Quoth Randall Stross (I paraphrase) by way
Of summing up his thought's on Apple's move,
Applying for a patent on, they say,
A gadget highjack, quite against the groove
We think is Apple's. Make your iPod freeze
Until you prove you've watched the ad it's shown?
Anathema! Yet cooler heads say "Please,
Is this indeed the Apple we have known?"
Perhaps it's just a measure to prevent
Some others making real what we'd resent.

BONUS SONNET: A Day In The Life Of Oliveri

Triumphant from refinancing his home,
Mike Oliveri pauses now to gloat,
And suck on ice cream 'neath a plastic dome:
A Reese's Blizzard, or so he just wrote
On Twitter -- also how I know that he
Has found a use for Tower CPUs:
As fancy doorstops. And I read him see
A "douchebag's car" displaying drug abuse,
And call down hail upon his widdle head
Though his renaming of a doctor's role.
Yes, quite a day for Michael, as he's said:
But it's not done, for here my sonnet droll
Will surely touch off more witty remarks
For now I've fed him to the sonnet sharks.