Mac hummed to himself as he strolled through endless, featureless white space (something he tended to do most late nights). PC had been in and out all evening, but he had frozen up about an hour ago and hadn't been back since. The only user input Mac had gotten that night had been half an hour on something that might one day be a music video comprised of Doctor Who clips and … he identified the song and queried Wiki.

Four seconds later (the wireless his user was pirating was slow this evening, the signal weak, and he wished she'd break down and pay for a reliable broadband connection) the Wikihound trotted up and dropped a printout at his feet. The mutt sat and panted up at him, big, floppy pink tongue dangling out of its mouth.

Mac picked up the print out and patted the slightly brain damaged but essentially friendly dog's head. It woofed, then trotted off in a different direction than the one from which it had come. Mac read the query results. Pulp's Common People, instant UK classic when it was released in 1995. And then some more information. Right. Wow. He really didn't want to know that much about the song and tossed the print out over his shoulder.

He wasn't sure where this particular creative endeavor of hers was going and he just wished she'd get the hang of Final Cut Pro so she could finish the damn thing and he wouldn't have to hear it for the (he checked iTunes) three-hundred-and-forty-eighth time. He shook his head.

His user (he didn't like to consider her an owner - they were partners and he was willing to overlook the fact that she'd summarily named him Justine) was currently sleeping, and while he was grateful for a break from (the Wikihound trotted up again and lapped at him as it delivered his query results, drooled all over his hand but really, as lonely as Mac was feeling tonight, he didn't mind. He stroked the hound's head, wiping off the unattributed stubs on its curly, matted coat. Then, as Mac watched, it popped out without a sound) Jarvis Cocker's vocals, there was nothing to do. Nothing at all to do and he did wish PC would come back.

He wanted someone to talk with. Or whatever. But he'd been walking through the silent, featureless landscape for over an hour and he'd seen no sign of PC.

Then in the distance - where the horizon would be if there were one - appeared a black dot. Mac approached it slowly, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Gradually, the dot resolved itself into that tall, blonde, square shouldered Vista Authorization Guardian.

Mac didn't like Vista, but the Guardian wasn't that bad, just a little overenthusiastic doing his job. The man really needed to learn how to loosen up. Didn't hurt that he wasn't too hard on the eyes, though. Windows' style didn't always suit Mac's but it wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of eye candy, and that he was grateful for.

The reason Mac didn't like Vista was that ever since he'd entered PC's life, there had been a lot of mornings where PC was very quiet. A lot of "accidents." A lot of unexplained reboots that you just weren't supposed to talk about. PC also seemed to be walking into an awful lot of cabinets lately, which Mac really didn't like.

Mac itched to say something. He even tried to bring it up a couple of times, but PC's eyes always glazed over and he started in with the, "Vista knows what's good for me. I know Vista loves me. Accidents happen. Vista only wants what's best for me." He refused to listen to even the gentlest questions, and if Mac pressed the issue, PC just clammed up and hibernated.

Labels: giants by the ready set is a cute song, hair, interesting reads, pimple

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