I bit the bullet and ordered new RAM for my Mac Mini. I can bump it up to 2 gigs, if I'm reading the specs right, and that may help my little beast go a while longer. Wasn't cheap, but I have the kind of card that gives little rebates on everything you buy, and since I use it for my trips, I've built up enough to pay for the RAM...so officially it's costing me nothing. That, I can live with.
I'm a third of the way through IF's polish, and still running into moments that are confusing or don't add up to when the story's supposed to be taking place. For instance, I had Vinnie luxuriating in a brand new 1966 Pontiac GTO with a vinyl roof, "the first he'd ever seen," when the timeframe should have been late in 1966, so it needed to be a '67 to keep things in order.
I wish I could just rely on my own memory of those times for this story, like when miniskirts came into fashion and what sort of cultural references there were at the time, but my memories are too jumbled up from living in so many different places. Summer of '65- summer of '66 was in El Paso; '66-'67 was Grand Forks, North Dakota then San Antonio; '67-'68 was Honolulu; and we settled back in San Antonio the summer of 1968, in the middle of Hemisfair and Fiesta Noche del Rio in La Villita (San Antonio's old town nestled up next to Hemisfair Plaza). And San Antonio was about 10 years behind the times, if that modern.
Example -- I did my last two years of high school in SA, at an inner-city school where girls could not wear miniskirts or pants; and boys had to wear slacks, no jeans. Hair was kept to a minimum my first year, and many's the time I got ordered to get mine cut...and many's the time I ignored the order. But it was hard for me to hide my long hair in the crowd; I was the only redhead in a school that was 95% Latino.
My connection with pop culture didn't really come about till I'd graduated and was working, which was during the phase between hippies and disco. Not a lot of memories to mine...because I wasn't sober much. Not stoned; I couldn't smoke pot because it killed my voice (couldn't even smoke cigarettes) and the few times I tried uppers I hated it when I came down. So I drank wine and screwdrivers and slowly shifted to beer, and once got so drunk, I wound up with alcohol poisoning...and didn't remember driving home. That's when I cut back on my drinking, and now I just have a beer with dinner, every now and then, and that's plenty.
Y'know, I hated moving around so much, back then. I wanted consistency and long-term friends instead of people I'd only know for a year, if that long. Now? I love to travel, even as painful as it is dealing with airport security. If I could have worked it out right, I'd have taken the train down to this next packing job in New York because it's a beautiful journey. As it is, I'm staying an extra day in NYC so I can go to the Guggenheim...so that's fine.
Hmph...a rambling road of thoughts to lie back on.
I'm a third of the way through IF's polish, and still running into moments that are confusing or don't add up to when the story's supposed to be taking place. For instance, I had Vinnie luxuriating in a brand new 1966 Pontiac GTO with a vinyl roof, "the first he'd ever seen," when the timeframe should have been late in 1966, so it needed to be a '67 to keep things in order.
I wish I could just rely on my own memory of those times for this story, like when miniskirts came into fashion and what sort of cultural references there were at the time, but my memories are too jumbled up from living in so many different places. Summer of '65- summer of '66 was in El Paso; '66-'67 was Grand Forks, North Dakota then San Antonio; '67-'68 was Honolulu; and we settled back in San Antonio the summer of 1968, in the middle of Hemisfair and Fiesta Noche del Rio in La Villita (San Antonio's old town nestled up next to Hemisfair Plaza). And San Antonio was about 10 years behind the times, if that modern.
Example -- I did my last two years of high school in SA, at an inner-city school where girls could not wear miniskirts or pants; and boys had to wear slacks, no jeans. Hair was kept to a minimum my first year, and many's the time I got ordered to get mine cut...and many's the time I ignored the order. But it was hard for me to hide my long hair in the crowd; I was the only redhead in a school that was 95% Latino.
My connection with pop culture didn't really come about till I'd graduated and was working, which was during the phase between hippies and disco. Not a lot of memories to mine...because I wasn't sober much. Not stoned; I couldn't smoke pot because it killed my voice (couldn't even smoke cigarettes) and the few times I tried uppers I hated it when I came down. So I drank wine and screwdrivers and slowly shifted to beer, and once got so drunk, I wound up with alcohol poisoning...and didn't remember driving home. That's when I cut back on my drinking, and now I just have a beer with dinner, every now and then, and that's plenty.
Y'know, I hated moving around so much, back then. I wanted consistency and long-term friends instead of people I'd only know for a year, if that long. Now? I love to travel, even as painful as it is dealing with airport security. If I could have worked it out right, I'd have taken the train down to this next packing job in New York because it's a beautiful journey. As it is, I'm staying an extra day in NYC so I can go to the Guggenheim...so that's fine.
Hmph...a rambling road of thoughts to lie back on.
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