RAMBLING ON AGAIN

The Woman in the Window (1944) was quite good, very noir. I see 
there's a new film of the same name, but it's not a remake. The 
shortbread biscuits went alright. I broke my electric beater, 
possibly mis-use, or maybe just aging 50 year old plastic (it looks 
pretty 70s - suits the rest of the kitchen actually) - one of the 
beater bits came off the shaft. Should be easy to fix with some 
epoxy anyway. The biscuits themselves turned out quite nice. They 
took twice as long in the oven as the recipe said though, maybe 
they were using one of those fan-forced ovens, although I'm not 
really sure what effect those are supposed to have anyway. The 
mechanical oven timer turned out to be broken, and the light, but 
it heats up so that's all you need, and the scrap sheet metal bits 
made good enough baking trays, after I spent ages washing all the 
bird poo off them.

In terms of cost, they are a fair bit cheaper to make by weight 
than buying the biscuits available now, though probably not much 
cheaper than the discount ones I used to buy. The rolling out seems 
overly laborious, although my using a cardboard tube wrapped in 
baking paper as a rolling pin is no doubt part of the trouble 
there. I'm trying to work out a way to use a mould, but the 
consistency probably won't suit that very well.

I wrote a post a few days ago but it ended up a bit too personal. 
It was in fact all about my latest business plans and failures, and 
somehow that is truely the most personal and emotive thing I can 
write about these days. That's a sad personal fact in itself. In 
fact it's probably not so much that I care too much about making 
money, but I just don't care that much about everything else. Then 
there are times like tonight when I really don't care about any of 
it.

In a way there's nothing more lonely than telling all the world 
your deepest troubles anyway. Plus this phlog thing has me wondering 
sometimes whether I'm just playing a silly game of stacking words 
together. Billions of humans all stringing the same words in 
sequence, what's the point of it all? Does anyone ever really say 
anything, or is it just jibberish to be read by other minds that 
make it mean whatever they desire? Words don't need to have 
meaning. "I love grapefruit" can just as easily mean "I hate 
penguins", and if you want it to mean one thing, then what matter 
is it to anyone else either way?

I did discover that some Chinese bloke is making replacement 
motherboards for old Thinkpads, so I've added info on that at the 
end of my PiMoBo idea in the Ideas section. They're not for Pi 
compute modules but actual current-model x86 processors and 
peripherals, which is impressive, though as noted there not really 
the sort of thing I was thinking of myself.

There's also some bits of an American tourist guide to the 
"Night-Life and Shopping" of Hong Kong in 1971, over in the History 
Snippets section. I think it's facinating. Really.

 - The Free Thinker.