NOTES FROM THE FIELD: Microsoft service makes users nervous

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: Microsoft service makes users nervous

Life sucks when you're dating a Googillionaire. It turns out Margot, my gas-loving gal pal, not only works at the House of G but has enough options socked away to purchase a small European fiefdom. When the share price cracked $US100, she mysteriously stopped returning my IMs.

Pack rats: Microsoft's long-awaited Windows XP Service Pack 2 was supposed to firm up XP's firewall, fill its security holes, and ease the heartbreak of psoriasis, but apparently it's causing a few ills of its own. One Cringester claims the update nuked all his unread mail in Outlook Express; another claims he couldn't get XP to boot until he ripped out his Intel motherboard and replaced it with an Athlon chip and Asus board. I don't know about you, but that's not my definition of service.

Spin doctors to the OR: Following up on my item from last week, I've learned that compact discs are apparently exploding like shrapnel in drives all over the country. At least so say readers who've nearly been fragged by flying plastic. Games appear to be the biggest culprits; it seems these discs - and possibly their users - are wobblier than most. Several readers noted the Discovery Channel devoted part of a recent MythBusters episode to proving that CDs will indeed shatter at high speeds. Also on that episode: Will silicon implants explode at 35,000 feet?

Why is it that I always miss the good shows?

Separate but unequal: Cringester Don D forwarded an ad he found on posted by a national furniture chain that specialises in poster art. The ad was seeking a "Diretor, Managment Information Systms (sic)" and assured applicants the company was not an equal opportunity employer. I gather the stores are only interested in hiring illiterate geeks without access to a spell checker.

The Bovine Miss M: My more chemically astute readers have pointed out that methane is odourless, so whatever Margot was smelling on our last date had to be another noxious substance.

Perhaps it was my cologne, Eau d'Abattoir. It's designed to drive a woman mad.

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