All Hail the Great God TiVogreenspun.com : LUSENET : Hedgehog Talk : One Thread
O my heavens, that TiVo is the most wonderful thing in the whole world, I'm planning on creating a shrine around it with candles and offerings and things. What thing do you own that you just worship?
-- Kymm Zuckert (email@example.com), June 22, 2001
It would have to be my Macintosh Powerbook. I consider my cat to be in a different category than "ownership" (or rather, he owns *me*), but still, God forbid I had to get out of the house in a hurry, I'd have the computer under one arm and the cat under another. And let me tell you, the arm with the computer under it would not be clawed up and bloody with huge hunks of flesh hanging from it. This, of course, is after I threw my paper journals and my box of publications out the window.
Right now, I'm also enamoured of all of my Chicken Run toys, but not to the same extent.
Hey, Kymm...any chance you and your TiVo lover could check and see whether that episode of St. Elsewhere with Austin Pendleton in it (as the weird elevator guy) will be playing at any time in the near future?
-- Dorothy Rothschild (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 22, 2001.
I just don't know that I have it in me to worship a -thing- -- worship is a strong word -- but there are material objects from which I've derived a ridiculous amount of fawning pleasure: a small red and yellow glass carafe made by an MIT student, my first edition of Anna Leonowens's "An English Governess at the Siamese Court" (bought while I was scrimping away as a temp with no money for the exorbitant sum of $50) -- they are almost always decorative objects or books.
But when fleeing a burning house, I'd have to grab up my photographs and my journals. I could not bear to see the written record of my life -- ordinary though it is -- be wiped out.
-- Robert (email@example.com), June 22, 2001.
thirtysomething's coming back? Is it reruns, or are they starting a new series with a bunch of gen-x slackers in their 30's, sitting around saying "dude... aren't we supposed to have, like, jobs or something?"
-- Colin (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 22, 2001.
Now that summer's here and my basil plants are flourishing, it's my food processor. I don't care what Marcella Hazan says, Cuisinart trumps mortar-and-pestle when I want my hit of creamy green-and-garlicky goodne
-- Peg Duthie (email@example.com), June 22, 2001.
Sony Mavica digital camera. It's already got a cult around it, so I'm not the first to change religion because of the Mavica. The convenience of the floppy disk instead of three different kinds of incompatible memory cards means I can email my family pictures of my adventures from whatever computer I can get access to around the world. My brother tried a Mavica and immediately bought 14 of them for his entire safety department. They email each other pictures of accidents from all around the Balkans. We are all Mavica cultists on this bus.
-- Janet Egan (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 23, 2001.
I am fickle, and so it changes frequently. First it was the coolest mp3 player in all the land that did magical things like playlists and had billions and kajillions of thingies of memory, and it was a gorgeous tiny little silver thing that made me want to lick it. And then, the batteries ran out. I don't know where it is, anymore.
And then, it was my tiny laptop. Tiny! Sweet! Weighing thirteen ounces and having all perfections and a little camera and being all silver and slim and sexy and oh, how I loved my little laptop. To tiny little pieces. And then, the batteries started running out after I used the thing for thirty minutes. It's in the bottom of my nighttable, now.
And then, it was my handspring visor. I adored my handspring visor. It was tiny, smart, and translucent. It had a pretty little leather case, and made me feel organized. I could find restaurants and subways and remember birthdays and be all hip and shit. I loved my tiny handspring visor. Then, the batteries ran out. I think it's in my car.
Recently, it's been my cable modem. Because my cable modem is all that is cool. It is zippy and swell, my phone bills have gone back to 12 bucks a months (instead of the aol-pumped 300 bucks a month, between me and The Boy) and I can download things, zoom! And then, the batteries ran out. No, wait, it doesn't have batteries. And then, I stopped going online at home, and found oodles of spare time to do crazy things like read, talk to my boyfriend, clean the house, play with the cats and go out and drink beer with friends who forgot what I looked like. Now, the cable modem is still on my desk, but I don't much love it.
I don't worship anything, anymore. Maybe a TiVo, if I got one, for say, my birthday. That would rock. Until it ran out of batteries.
-- Jen (email@example.com), June 23, 2001.
TiVos don't run out of batteries. (Hi Kymm, I'm glad you like your TiVo, and I'm glad you're not dead!)
-- Dennis Gentry (firstname.lastname@example.org), September 15, 2001.