Office 2008 on OS X

I installed Microsoft Office 2008 for OS X at home expecting it to be somewhat similar to 2007, which we use at the office. It isn't.

Case in point:



I've taken a screen shot of the top portion of the screen in Word, the one that would normally contain useful tools. Instead, I have an entire row of buttons I'll likely never use. They're cool features (SmartArt, for example, allows one to insert shiny flowcharts and diagrams), but I'm not publishing. I'm processing words. In a Word processor. One that would do better to have tools like "Center" and "Italics" at the top of the page.

Which brings us to annoyance number two:



The aforementioned vital tools aren't even attached to the program's window. They float. And they disappear after a few seconds by default. I can't modify the toolbars at the top of the window, but at least I can change that horrid behavior.

I hear there are other annoyances (the actual removal of VBA support in Excel from the last version to this one, for example), but I can't account for anything else first-hand. I just know I don't like Word. At all.

Parte Uno

When they first met, she didn't know it. He was too uncomfortable to say anything, and she was completely engrossed in her studies. She sat in the half-shade on the side of the building, a brick affair from the 50s, wrapped in a too-large flannel shirt and well-worn jeans, rocking a bit and murmuring to herself about the bugs. She studied the ground in front of her. It appeared, at least from Sam's perspective, to be absolutely fascinating.

Sam was new to the neighborhood, so he said with healthy irony as he introduced himself to his neighbor across the hall as they jostled to get past each other. These halls were too narrow. He'd just moved into the newly-finished warehouse-turned-lofts (closets, really) building in a somewhat seedy part of downtown, but it was a step up from the suburbs. It was more expensive at any rate, he told himself, and he could afford it easily. And it was a downtown loft. It may have been a closet, but it was a luxurious one. His bathroom counter was even made of frosted glass. Movin' on up, indeed.

After a few weeks of walking past the girl at the side of the building every night on his way home from work, Sam grew accustomed enough to her to say hello. The first time he did, she snapped her head up and sat frozen, wide-eyed, her mouth moving only slightly to return the greeting.

He knew by now she was nuttier than an ape on happy pills, but he could tell she wasn't the violent sort. It was something about her features; her face was undoubtedly soft at some point in the past but that had all but disappeared with the passage of time. She wasn't yet grizzled, and she was still young (so tragically young -- twenty-five, tops), but her cheek bones stood out, framing her face between them and a sharp jaw line like a painting left outdoors, exposed, becoming slowly more and more like the environment that surrounded it. She hadn't yet been worn down enough to put out the light behind her eyes, but she was no newcomer to the streets. He wondered how long she'd been here. And he knew by her reaction to him she'd seen more than her share of trouble.

A Poem

I should post something.
Eleven days in,
My muse has skipped town.

I'll write a story before the month is over. And I'll post a song. But not tonight. Bah.

Mull

50% down would make a huge dent in a house. My payments would be significantly lower than my current rent. What's the catch?

I wonder if a university would let me play a large piano if I wasn't studying one but was still a student.

What on *earth* is that noise?

Resurrection

I had some herbs this summer. One week, I forgot to water them. One died.

At least, I thought it was dead. The leaves were brown and crinkly, the stems were brittle, and a spider even made a home in the pot. I was apparently wrong. It's come back to life. There's some new green in the middle, and a couple of the stems have even started to turn green again.

Was it faking its death for attention? Somebody ought to tell the plant that dead ones get significantly less attention than live ones...

Terrible Toads

I went to the same coffee shop several times per week for about five years. A year and a half or so ago, the drama finally sucked me in and I stopped going.

I went back on Halloween, and I went back again yesterday. The same people are still there, up to their same tricks. While many relationships are cool, at best, the place still warms me, and it hasn't yet come to fisticuffs.

I'm not sure if this is such a good idea, but it's too late now. A candle on my table and an oddly-instrumented band on stage playing odd, jazzy-like music and a crowd dressed from jeans and tees to cuff links and ties made the atmosphere a far cry from the sports bar near home. I've missed the place. I'm hooked again.

Love's Tune

A snippet from train-of-thought at the bar:

This is one of her more croony songs. Whenever I hear Billie Holliday these days, it reminds me of a rather disturbing recording of David Sedaris singing commercial jingles in her voice. He does her well. A bit too well. I wouldn't say he's ruined her, but I can't get his voice out of my head. The influence makes me grin. Like I didn't grin enough upon hearing her already.