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- Thread starter kelli
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Morning all
LOL....How can you go wrong waking up to a good laugh
InMyImage
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So I realize that things can sometimes not come across with their intent or tone in a simple forum post, but what I was saying is that Zotac is not a new product. They are an established company that has been around for years and has built a name and following particularly in the HTPC market but mostly on the XBMC side of the house.
The primary limitation for them on the WMC side is that they act as a standalone machine with full OS which means that they cannot be used as a WMC extender and thus cannot play protected content that is protected by the encryption used by cable companies which is only supported by the Windows platform. All cable boxes today currently use a custom version of Windows because of the protection used by movie channels as an industry standard.
Zotac has always been on the cusp of tech and has always been a great value.
And I'm not sure what you were trying to get across by the emphases on "built" but I also built my WMC system and have about 10 TB of DVDs in my system along with about 1 TB of recorded TV series that I enjoy watching the reruns of but don't have DVDs of the series to ingest into my system. The environment currently has a WMC server connected to a cable receiver using a cable card with multiple tuners and comprises 4 WMC boxes along with 3 Xbox's that act as WMC extenders. So, I think over the last 7 years, you could say that I built my system as well...
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Made some more of my infamous Spicy Meat Filling again.
About a pound or so of browned lean ground beef, dashes of Worcestershire and Ketchup, about half an onion, garlic cloves, Mexican Oregano, Cumin, A big Red Habanero, lots of chile powders & spices including Bhut Jolokia powder, and I used pickled Jalapeno "juice" and Dos Equis XX Ambar beer for the liquids.
De-glazing with some Dos Equis XX Ambar...mmmm. It makes such a wonderful flavor as it cooks down.
Note: As there is about a 1/4 tsp. of Bhut Jolokia powder in there, Do Not Smell The Steam!!
Let it all reduce and concentrate on low heat for about an hour.
Pressed through a metal strainer to get the extra fat and liquid out - but saving that good stuff for flavoring other things.
Stuff will take yer head off, but man it's good.
Besides just burritos, I like adding it to grocery store Chilli and putting over buns with some cheese.
About a pound or so of browned lean ground beef, dashes of Worcestershire and Ketchup, about half an onion, garlic cloves, Mexican Oregano, Cumin, A big Red Habanero, lots of chile powders & spices including Bhut Jolokia powder, and I used pickled Jalapeno "juice" and Dos Equis XX Ambar beer for the liquids.
De-glazing with some Dos Equis XX Ambar...mmmm. It makes such a wonderful flavor as it cooks down.
Note: As there is about a 1/4 tsp. of Bhut Jolokia powder in there, Do Not Smell The Steam!!
Let it all reduce and concentrate on low heat for about an hour.
Pressed through a metal strainer to get the extra fat and liquid out - but saving that good stuff for flavoring other things.
Stuff will take yer head off, but man it's good.
Besides just burritos, I like adding it to grocery store Chilli and putting over buns with some cheese.
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moecat
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Morning .. hope you have a good day!
That'd be awesome!
I know they have sticky things you put on to charge the battery. And a belt thing to charge it. I think I'd have to press my mod up next to it somehow lol after they do the trial run all the wires are internal
And I can't face the evening straight
And you can't offer me escape
Houses move and houses speak
If you take me there you'll get relief
And you can't offer me escape
Houses move and houses speak
If you take me there you'll get relief
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free——
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.
Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.
The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.
Sylvia Plath, “Tulips”
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free——
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.
Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.
The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.
Sylvia Plath, “Tulips”
Roger Schaeffer
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2 Weeks ago Sunrise vs Today
muth i said hi to you in mod envy last night and you shunned me. god was i hurt.
Oh God, Kelli, how could I do this to you?
moecat
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I was just saying that I built an HTPC in the past year and didn't need to, because my needs were perfectly met by Chromebox, which I didn't know about until I had already bought the parts. No matter because that build became a replacement for an aging PC. And no comparison to the serious WMC network you built. You must really like your movie library available instantly at all times! Cheers.
What the hell is their MO?
Fine, fine? Where are you?HI muth!
How are you on this fine Monday morning?
Bitgod
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I don't think it's been fully explained, but has some connections to when she was an underground fighter to pay for college.
in my house where it is nice and warm
glassgrl
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That sounds just about like what we're going to get. They didn't mention sideways. He. Hehe. The wind is howling right now.
Where you at?
lol no just sweat pants and a sweat shirtAre you wearing a snuggle?
Lucky you. Boston
glassgrl
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I love those commercials. Silly people and those difficult to maneuver blankets.Are you wearing a snuggle?
glassgrl
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I guess the grass is always greener. Don't much like it here.Lucky you. Boston
I'd like to see you in a snuggle. Can you go out and get one?
I think she's in Delaware at some African violet convention
I've been. Looked beautiful to me. But you're right, grass is always greener (for a number of reasons)
I'd like to see you and me in the same snuggle!I'd like to see you in a snuggle. Can you go out and get one?
I suppose I could go get one. But you'd never see a picture of me in it
I can't get out of bed
Fucking nerve pain meds make me dizzy and depressed. And don't help the pain at all
Time to take some ultram and flush this keppra shit