Logitech has not provided, and I assume, will not be providing Windows 7 drivers for the oldish QuickCam Pro 4000 (which is still a perfectly fine piece of hardware, so why should I have to buy another one?)

It doesn’t matter. Do this: download the most recent Vista software, and run it. In the final step, the camera will fail to show an image, but ignore that. The software should be installed just fine, the only thing you’ll be missing is the driver.

Some people have had success getting that driver working by simply going through the normal install process, and then unplugging their camera and moving it to another USB port. Windows then detects the device and locates the driver on its own. But in case this doesn’t work for you (it didn’t work for me):

Go into your Control Panel, open “Hardware and Sound”, and then select “Device Manager” under “Devices and Printers” (or just “Device Manager”, if your Control Panel shows all items). You will see an “unknown device” marked by a yellow warning symbol. Double-click on that sucker, then select “Update driver”, choose “Browse my computer for driver software”, and navigate to (or cut and paste) the folder C:\Program Files\Logitech\QuickCamWebInstall\Drivers — make sure the “Include subfolders” box is checked. Hit “Next”, and Windows should install your device. This probably works for other webcam models as well.

You’re welcome. And Logitech, you’re lazy jerks!

The rest of them were cryptic things like “Why are they eating their lunch in a library?” that were meant to be starting points to longer blog entries I never got to (and eventually forgot even what they were meant to be about), several rants about Comcast that I decided no one needed to be subjected to, and once-topical posts that would make absolutely no sense now that it’s years later.

So, goodbye to that crap. I don’t feel obligated to finish any of it any more. I do feel obligated to post here more often, though. Clearing the detritus out of my head, onto the Internet, where it could be free, used to be therapeutic. Yes, this blog is my mind’s garbage disposal. Or, to use another metaphor (I hate metaphors), my words are puppies that I’m setting free in the woods because I can’t be arsed to take care of them anymore. They’ll be better off on their own. It’s the right thing to do. Those words never did like being cooped up inside, anyway.

If somebody else has any purpose for what I write, that’s their own problem. Personally, I rarely look back at anything I’ve posted. I don’t bother proofreading, either. By the time I’m at the end of whatever I’m babbling, I usually can’t even remember what I’d started writing about in the first place. This junk is just one wrung above stream-of-consciousness. I just want my ideas gone, so they’re no longer my responsibility. Ideas are troublesome little bastards to have bouncing around in your brain. You deal with them!

Oh, yeah. I also want to start not being a dumbshit who never updates her blog, again, because I’ve completely fallen out of the habit of writing. Usually when I’m not posting here, I’m still scribbling away in 87 notebooks, but I haven’t written anything for a while other than notes for things I want to write but probably never will (because I’ll forget what the notes mean and/or be unable to read my own craptastic handwriting by the time I get around to it).

Encourage me and comment, or something.

So, what have I been doing with myself… Not a whole lot. We are so incredibly broke. I go to work, I come home, and we gather around the TV’s warm glowing warming glow. Thinking is overrated, so we mainly stick to trashy reality shows. Lately we’ve been murdering our braincells with the train-wreck that is “Daisy of Love”. That is, indeed, the proper name for the show. Daisy has had to correct us several times. It turns out that neither “Daisy of Kill” nor “I Love Liquor” are official titles for the program. (I, for one, would definitely tune in to a show called “I Love Liquor”. Then again, that’s every reality show, isn’t it.) “Daisy of Love” features a house full of dumb-as-bricks men vying for the attention of a plastic leprechaun who was discarded from “Rock of Love”. You have to be in a certain mindset to convince yourself to even press play on the DVR to start this show…

“Daisy of Love”, however, is but a poor replacement for our old standby, “Tool Academy”. If you haven’t seen it, this clip will tell you everything you need to know:

The rest of the show mainly consists of these douchebags saying “dude”, “fuck” and “bro” and flexing. Speaking of which, meet Matsuflex:

We were “lucky” enough to be in the same place at the same time as him the other day. Look at this shit:

That was a memorable evening. If only I could remember it… I still can’t stop laughing. [Correction: I can remember Sean yelling "Man Panties" at him repeatedly...] You should follow Matsuflex on Twitter. Trust me, he has only the most profound things to say. I know I couldn’t live my life without knowing if he was presently at the beach, at the gym, getting a tan, eating, or getting paid to make an appearance at a club (as far as I can tell, he doesn’t ever do anything else).

And that’s essentially my life lately. Here’s what I do to cope with its crapitude. Mmmmm, breakfast:

(10 points for each one of those pills you can identify)

It’s about that time now, actually. I suppose I should go and put on pants, or something. Stupid USCIS! Stupid work!

But I’m meeting up with Sean and the band for their Toronto on Saturday. That’ll be fun. That is, if I manage to get out of the house on time to make my USCIS appointment in two hours, and they don’t hassle me about rubber-stamping my passport. I can easily leave the country, but getting back in is more of a problem… (Or, um… inconvenience? I wouldn’t necessarily call it a “problem”. As in, who the hell would ever say “oh no, they won’t let me into the United States”. Well, who from Canada, anyway.)

So four days until Toronto, Ontari-ari-ari-o. Haven’t been there for quite a while, so I’m not sure what I’m gonna do. Ideally, I would hit Queen street with my mighty, powerful American dollars, but it seems that I don’t have a terrible lot of those…

La la la. I’m mainly writing this because I have the chance for once. Maybe I’ll come up with some non-retardedness later in the week.

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are; You’ve left your coat on some pile, and knew it wouldn’t get stolen.
This is one of the many things I learned was a bad idea as soon as I moved to the US — even if you’re somewhere where there are ABSOLUTELY NO STRANGERS.

You’ve never made a move on your buddies girlfriend.
Buddies plural? Probably still yes…

You know that on a road trip the strongest bladder determines the pit stops.
Shit yeah. Usually not me by a longshot, but I ain’t complainin’

You’ve kept all your hockey trophies.
I suck donkey balls at hockey, but I have all my track & field and soccer shite.

You’ve replaced someones pint if you’ve knocked theirs over.
I don’t know if that’s ever happened, but I’m sure I would, unless I was totally gone.

If your buddy’s in trouble, you’ve got his back.
Well, only at a certain point do I become strong/stupid enough to fight somebody, but damn straight… I’ll bitch ‘em out anytime.

You’ve clapped for a dancer even though she shouldn’t be a dancer.
Yes, I do have the excessive politness gene.

You’ve used a blow torch to curve your stick.
No, but I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.

You’ve used your arm as an ice-scraper
Isn’t that what it’s there for?

and, you’ve grown a beard in the post season
Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough, but I never seem able to accomplish this.

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
Well, if you’re going cheap, it’s better than any of the American swill there is to choose from.

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are;You have a hockey scar somewhere.
Soccer scar, perhaps. Boo hockey.

You’ve gone on a road trip with a car that had no business going on a road trip.
Road trip, not so much. Band tour, repeatedly.

You’re proud to know a girl who got jiggy with a pro hockey player.
I don’t know that sort of girl. The ones I know just get jiggy with musicians…

You feel kinda bad reclining your seat in an airplane.
I only do it when they get up, so they don’t notice as much… ’cause yeah, I feel kinda bad.

You’ve used a cheesy pick-up line because your buddy dared you.
I have never used a pick-up line — EVER.

You fill your friends pint before your own.
Obviously.

You think hockey tape can fix anything.
I’m sure that it can, but I’d go in this order: duct tape > electrical tape > hockey tape.

You’ve gotten kicked out of somewhere,
Oh, hell yes. And into somewhere else, even.

and, you’ve turned down a booty call in the post-season.
Since when do I even answer my phone?

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
I still don’t have my American citizenship, so “our” can still apply to me, right? I prefer vodka…

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are; You’ve driven an hour for 19 minutes of ice time.
I should think not.

You’ve been to a bar that starts with Mc or ends in Annigan’s.
This applies equally well to Chicago.

You appreciate a woman who’s into sports.
I would appreciate it more if they wouldn’t appreciate it anywhere near me.

You’ll call anyone with goalie equipment a friend.
I won’t call them at all.

You know what a J-stroke is.
I’m on the internet, so I do now.

And sometimes, figure skating is worth watching.
It’s hypnotic. If you need to stop thinking about shit for a while, put that on the box.

You know the sippy cup lid isn’t as dumb as it sounds.
Sippy cup > all.

You’ve worn a canoe as a hat.
Myep…

You’ve assembled a barbeque,
I’m a girl, therefore no. Of course, this excuse only applies when I don’t want to do something. In any other situation “you’re a girl” gets you a slap in the face.

and, they’re not dents, they’re goals.
Hockey. Pfeh!

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
I wonder if there’s any beer left in the fridge here at work…

And.

Yeah, so I disappear for months at a time now and then. It’s just what I do. Check the archives. Those gaps can be blamed 50/50 on sleeping on floors and having no internet access, or super mental bouts of depression (also, catastrophic data loss). I haven’t been sleeping on floors lately, BTW. But I figured… it’s freakin’ March and shit, lady. Snap the fuck out of it. The last time I posted anything here was November. Pretty bad.

I also blame Twitter, in part, because now I can complain about anything instantly, and get it out of my system before it becomes a full-fledged rant that I need to blather on about later. And having a job, and having no ability to post blog entries on the bus, which is where most of the annoyances in my life occur (thank fucking Jebus that puffy coat season is almost over). Those all get written down on paper. And I can’t read half of them later, so they’re just lost. I think I’ve also written approximately 7642 drafts (25 in actuality, at least 3 of which are about how much Comcast sucks) but I just haven’t had an attention span to match that of a goldfish since fall.

Meh to all of this. I’ll be sure to post something more interesting in another four months or so. I’m going to make chili now. And repot some plants. And clean the bathroom. And drink some beer. And most importantly, get off of my damned ass. I hate computers.

I’m pretty well back in equilibrium now, though. So maybe I’ll get back to the posting. And maybe I won’t. That’s just the way things work around here. Some of those months that are missing from the archives were due to catastrophic data loss, but plenty of them are missing because blogging is for losers. Or also because I didn’t have internet and was sleeping on other peoples’ floors, etc. etc. You could always just read my Twitter updates, anyway. They say the same thing, but they’re much more concise. And the thing is, if I complain about something on Twitter first, it seems pointless to me to bring it up again here, thus saving the internet from lengthy rants about nothing of consequence.

I’m sleepy. Bye now.

Jynnan tonnyx and Jeeves & Wooster time.

So. #1. I don’t know whether anyone ever looks at all the junk in my sidebars, but if my blog is temporarily boring, you can always get everything in that Google Reader Shared box over there formatted as its own fancy little blog. If I’m not posting shit, it’s probably because I’m having a life, doing something productive (riiiiight — but it actually happened the last few days), or spending time with my other favourite glowing box. But I usually check my RSS feeds, and I hit the share button pretty frequently. Most of the posts I share are about hating Jesus, being frustrated by creduloids, Chicago, Toronto, or good ol’ Random Crap. If any of those interest you (who the hell doesn’t love Random Crap), you win. If you’re extra super fond of Stupid or Random Crap, you could also pay closer attention to my YouTube Favorites, also available as an RSS feed. Kind of makes me wonder how many other bread crumb trails there are of mine that I’m leaving all over the internet, that I haven’t cared about / used / discovered yet. Let’s find out! Okay, let’s not.

#2. I forgot what number 2 was supposed to be while I was writing number 1.

#3. There never was any number 3.

I don’t want to go to the store.

I don’t want to buy the following:

• Tinfoil
• Vitamins
• Potatoes
• Tomato sauce
• Pasta
• Ground black pepper
• Olive oil
• Paper towels
• Toilet paper
• Ketchup
• Floor cleaner
• Contact lens solution
• Cat food
• Razor blades
• Hamburger buns

And I know you don’t want to hear about it. But you might as well be bored right along with me, and I have nothing more interesting to do or write.