Valaceed & Frenzal Rhomb
   
 
Valaceed some gig for cancer sometime somewhere near cairns i guess.Frenzal (ive heard) are recording a new album.let me guess you missed frenzal gest programing rage.

 
this didnt work

----------> From: Fiona Marantos > To: [email protected]> Subject: Re: [frenzalrhomb] Fwd: Mmmmmm, Beeeeeer!> Date: Tuesday, August 25, 1998 9:45 AM> > At 04:02 PM 24/8/98 +1000, you wrote:> > That's pretty groovy! > >>>>>> > >>>>>>DO RE MI DRINK, by Homer J. Simpson. > >>>>>>> >

| | *ahem* La la la la.... ahem* LAAAAAAA!!

| __ __)> >>>>>>> > | / \/ \ DO...... the stuff... that buys me beer...> >>>>>>> > /\/\ (o )o ) RAY..... the guy that sells me beer...> >>>>>>> > /c \__/ --. ME...... the guy... who drinks the beer, > >>>>>>> >( ) FAR..... a long way to get beer...> >>>>>>> > \_ _-------' SO...... I'll have another beer... > >>>>>>> > | / \ LA...... I'll have another beer...> >>>>>>> > | | '\_______) TEA..... no thanks, I'm drinking beer... > >>>>>>> > | \_____) That will bring us back to...> >>>>>>> > |_____ | (Looks into an empty glass) > >>>>>>> > |_____/\/\> >>>>>>> > / \ D'OH!> >>>>>> > >>>> >
 
Terminal Illness
I recently found this article in the Good Weekend magazine it is the tragictale of the death of one mans computer written by Tom McNichol

When your computer dies, it can virtually be the end of the world. Or atleast the end of your virtual world. One man goes into mourning.TERMINAL ILLNESSMy computer died last week. If you think it's strange to talk about acomputer dying - as if it were a living thing - that's probably becauseyour computer is still alive. Mine's dead. Passed away the final Sign Off.Dragged to the trash can in the sky.It all happened so fast. I was working busily when suddenly the cursorfroze. This prompted me to unleash some colorful R-rated language, whichmight be how the cursor got its name in the first place. Before I couldadminister the universal computer remedy - turning the machine off the onagain - the picture on the monitor jerked sharply and then disappearedaltogether. A ghostly image appeared on the screen: the distorted face of ascreaming man.Then I realized that it was my distorted face on the screen, reflected inthe blank monitor. I'd been wondering where that screaming was coming from.I quickly turned the computer off and on again, and this time a single iconappeared on-screen, that of a "frowning" computer.Death, even the computer variety, is shrouded in euphemism. We say a lovedone has "passed away" or "gone to his eternal reward" or, if we've read alot of Shakespeare, "shuffled off this mortal coil". That's because we'reuncomfortable with the harsh finality of the word "dead". Instead of afrowning computer icon, my machine should have displayed a tombstone withthe computer's model number chiseled on it, as the built in speaker gaspeda few bars of Tchaikovsky's Funeral March.My computer wasn't sad - it was dead. And all my data were forever entombedinside.Of course I wasn't prepared to accept that immediately. The first stagewith dealing with computer death is denial. I bundled up my machine, placedit gingerly in the front seat of my car and raced to the nearest repairshop. (Hang on, little guy!) All the way, I tried to reassure myself thatnothing was wrong. After all, my computer hadn't shown any memory loss inyears, which is more that I can say for myself. How could anything sovibrant - so alive - suddenly be no more?The computer repair shop turned out to be a bit like a hospital emergencyroom, except the lines aren't as long and they only make you fill out oneform. The man behind the counter hooked up my computer to another machinethen gave the bad news. "I'm afraid your hard drive is fried.""Fried", of course, is just another euphemism for "dead". Perhaps the harddrive was killed by a virus or an undiagnosed manufacture's flaw. No-oneseemed to know for sure. Maybe that's why they call it random accessmemory. The tech said he would try to recover any data he could, but that Ishould consider all of my files lost forever. It wasn't until then that Irealized how much information I had locked away in my computer. All of mywriting for past several years, plus the notes that supported the writing.Personal and business letters. Works-in-progress that were now works Ihadn't even started. Dozens of e-mail addresses, fax numbers and phonenumbers of business contacts. The theme song from The Bob Newhart Show,which I Downloaded from the Nick at Night Web site.My friends, many of whom also had large chunks of their lives stored intheir computers, were appropriately sympathetic. "I'm so sorry," they toldme. But after expressing their condolences, nearly everyone probed for moredetails, trying to gauge the likelihood of the some thing happening tothem.I couldn't blame them. Computers have made us more productive, but at thecost of making us more vulnerable. The hidden menace of the computer age isthat data stored all in one place can disappear in an instant. If an enemyreally wants to bring the country to it's knees, it will fire off anenormous electromagnetic pulse that erases every hard drive across thenation. In two weeks we'll all be wearing animal pelts and huddling incaves for warmth.When I finally got my computer back from the shop, it really wasn't my oldcomputer at all since it had a completely new brain. There was a lonelyfile on the new hard drive labeled 'recovered data" that was full ofstrange fragments that read like the writings of an ancient civilization.Most of the stuff I cared about had vanished, except, curiously, the themefrom The Bob Newhart Show.The experience has taught me some valuable lessons about the perils of thedigital age, the transitory nature of our achievements and how importanceof backing up data on a floppy disk, which I now do after every sentence.But mostly, the death of my computer has taught me the only lesson deathever has to offer: when your number is up, there's absolutely nothing youcan do.bye bye,

 
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UBL Artist- Frenzal Rhomb

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