Well, I successfully managed to pull up my WinSocks yesterday.
It's a sad fact but I had been technologically (and technically?) remiss even by the rather backwards standards of my jungle outpost here.
I am ever so slowly starting to see how the Xphone II CAN fit into a fruitful and satisfying tech lifestyle. The hardware faults will need fixing (headphone jack and frustrating navstick) and some of the OS crap will need to be sorted (if it can), but, alas, I am starting to see the light. More on this later. First, another chapter in yesterday's fun tale.
As you may recall, I finally got flat-rate GPRS. This means I can be "on the net" 24x7 without paying any more than the up-front fee. Suddenly, a whole new release of Xphone II user/ownership has been rolled out across the enterprise of life.
On the way home from work yesterday, I harrassed, harried and annoyed a good friend. I know. With friends like me, who needs an enema?
Friend was sitting at his desk in London, England. I was getting on the ultra-modern, clean and comfortable "sky train" on which I commute. You know, between my tree-top jungle lair and my hollowed-out volcano. Murhahahaha. The meddling fools. I could have saved the world, etc.
I fired up a live stream of BBC Radio Five Live and listened to the same, dreary, old traffic reports that used to drive me round the bend (or not, road way congestion depending) back in Ole' Blighty. Oh how the tables are turned, my old nemeses!!!
Firing up MSN Messenger (without any interruption to my new-found 5 Live pleasures), I chortled down the pipe to the UK, "bwahahahaha...."
Said friend was none too pleased to be reminded that while he sat contmplating his navel and wondering how best to set fire to his cubicle, when on earth it will stop raining, if they'll ever see the sun again and if copious cups of Rosie Lea can really truly ever get the damp coldness out of one's bones, I was reading my email, listening to the radio and chatting with him, while carried in air-conditioned, Asian-babe splendour on my 15 minute journey from the station near my office to the station near my home and, most crucially (for the purposes of said haraasment of said friend) the exquisite palm-tree-lined, outdoor swimming pool of my local gym, where I would soon be several stories above even the aforementioned train itself, laying in the hot afternoon sun like a Columbian drug lord enjoying the fruits of his immoral labours.
Say hello to my little friend.