ed_rex

It's 17:39 Eastern time.

• Looks like the Habs have had it and I don't have the strength to pretend my cheers can make a difference.


• I'm about to release a critical analysis of the movies, Kick-Ass and Chloe. Perhaps surprisingly, there are parallels to be drawn. And also, it will give me my first legitimate chance to post photos of bare breasts on Edifice Rex Online. But click tomorrow, not now;


• "The Hungry Earth" is far and away the best Doctor Who episode of the season; maybe going all the way back to "Turn Left" (which I know, wasn't really even a part one of two). Here's hoping we get even a decend follow-up;


• Raven comes home on Monday. That makes up for everything bad and lays extra goodness on every dream of happiness.

Considering Doctor Who: The Eleventh Hour

Steven Moffat's debut shows promise
but fails the girlfriend test

The girlfriend fell asleep.

Steven Moffat's maiden voyage as the 'show-runner' behind the venerable franchise was a long way from a disaster, but by no means was it a triumphant success, either.

Amy Pond (Karen Gillian) and the eleventh Doctor (Matt Smith), exploring the new, steam-punkish TARDIS.

Granted that, following on the heels of Russell T Davies', bloated and self-indulgent finale, my expectations were running pretty high. After all, Moffat was responsible for both "The Doctor Dances" and "Blink" (the latter of which even the girlfriend enjoyed; and she is not much interested in SF or even science fantasy when you get right down to it) and so it was that I'd more and more often taken to shouting "Doctor Who!" or mumbling bars of the theme song at random moments with an ever increasing frequency as "Easter Saturday" approached.

Now, with Easter past, the Moffat era is officially upon us.

And the girlfriend fell asleep. In that unintended critique lies a most accurate appraisal of Moffat's opening salvo.

At nearly 70 minutes long, "The Eleventh Hour" was either 20 minutes too long or 30 minutes too short. ( Very mild plot spoilers, but one major visual spoiler, below. )

I'm feeling vaguely heroic as I fade towards sleep on this very early Saturday morning.

First came the rescue of Raven Tresses' laptop which, shortly upon her arrival home from work, refused her any but a frozen mockery of her normal desktop display.

Dusting off the mental files left over from my days in the worlds of help desk hell, I asked to take a look at her machine, sagely nodded as the still somewhat familiar WindowsXP desktop appeared before me, I made sure she had back-ups of most (if not necessarily all) of her files, explaining that we might need to try restoring the system to a previous state.

"But first," I mumbled, stumbling after the unfamiliar terminology, "Let's see if it'll boot into safe mode."

Raven powered-cycled the beast and I hit a couple of F keys, stopping the process, then found a way into the fabled Windows Safe Mode.

The screen's resolution was awful, the few default icons bloated and blurry, like a drunkard's self-analyses. But we had navigability! And, realizing I really didn't know what I should do once there, I moved with outward confidence to "Explore" the Control Panel, hoping a further course of action might leap out at me like the hideous graphics on an amateur's website.

Fortunately, Raven desired sustenance and so, having nothing immediately better to offer, I suggested she try re-booting and said I'd take another look after supper, if necessary. (You all know where this is going; if the Dilbert panel above didn't give it away, plain old experience will have for most of you.)

Though two manual reboots hadn't accomplished the task, one manual reboot and a brief, directionless visit to Safe Mode did the trick. Raven was back in business.

Or so she thought.

After she had cleaned up after my (frankly, very sub-par) dinner, she asked me whether I was able to open up the latest Microsoft Office file types — the ones which end in ".docx" rather than just ".doc".

You see, she's still running Microsoft's Office2003. And the latest version makes files which, er, aren't compatible with previous versions of the company's own fucking software.

Built-in obsolescence has seldom been so blatantly predatory.

Gentle Readers, I admit it: I smirked. My voice could have lubricated a fleet of battleships, such was my smug self-satisfaction.

"Why yes," I said, smiling a smile at once wondrous and yet nauseating to behold. "I'm running Linux — which comes with OpenOffice. Just send me the files."

Rather than belting me and then shoving me out of my chair, Raven displayed a saintly patient tolerance and merely inserted her USB key into my machine. Word, Excel and PowerPoint documents appeared on my screen and I converted them all into a format she could use. And Gentle Readers, she thanked me while she wiped the oil of my magnanimity from the aforementioned data storage unit.

Oh yes, before that, she'd had a similar problem, this time with an obsolete version of Adobe Illustrator, which wouldn't allow her to manipulate an image created with one more reason. And I, never having needed to separate a logo from its background, fired up TheGimp, consulted a few online forums, and soon saw her with a usable graphic for her work.

All of which is to say: People! Next time you're looking for an upgrade or a completely new piece of software, at least investigate the open source alternatives out there! Stop being voluntary prisoners of a rapacious corporate behemoth whose idea of innovation is to create new, proprietary file formats designed to separate you from your money, not to help you get things done.

And thus endeth tonight's sermon.

Next time! 60 per cent less gloating! Young Geoffrey promises!