Ha! I used it TWICE!

Also, to OP, that definitely wouldn’t have come OEM on a PC that shipped with Win 98.

Are we allowed to politely disagree and move on??!! I am happy to go into my thoughts as to why ROTS can’t overcome its shortcomings, but a lot of comes down to what hit me as a kid watching the OT and how the PT was such a drastic departure. Certain of those choices were rolled back in the ST, so I’m fonder of it than most, though I’ve been holding a torch for TLJ so long…

My very first “design” was cord wrangler that fit the exact number of things I needed to charge and was the exact thickness for my no-name pressboard nightstand with a gap that matched an opening in the back. It was exactly what I needed.

Imagine thinking 3 is worse than whatever fucking mess phantom menace was.

Want to know why Qui Gon dies from a stab when no one else ever does? The man was fucking exhausted from carrying the entire film. Liam Neeson single-handedly elevates TPM above the other two prequels.

7 was 4 but worse.

You’re not wrong, but four was that good

TLJ is flawed but great and would be higher if TROS weren’t such a cowardly backtracking shitshow of a movie.

ROTS is very nearly as hard to watch as AOTC, though it has some higher highs. I will personally never forgive it for forcing the most brain-twisting mental gymnastics ever to retcon ROTJ’s Luke-Leia “real mother” scene in the Ewok village.

Everything that’s annoying about AOTC is there in spades in ROTS.

ROTS just had few better parts.

(postlogue?)

epilogue

5, 4, 6, 8, 7, R1, Solo, 1, 3, 9, 2

And for the final thing I’ll definetly wanna fix with no clue how, is that the Monitor is oddly Zoomed out. The text is all further back then it should be making for a weird look. Old Burn-in from when this thing was actively used also assures me of that. No clue how one can fix that, any suggestions?

Most CRT displays have potentiometers, adjustable by screw or knob, to control horizontal and vertical size. As always, be careful with flyback transformers, etc., so as not to die.

Burn in is a real and AFAIK permanent thing.

Most unrealistic part of the movie, and by god I’m including TIME TRAVEL, is that Scotty would be both dismissive of and insanely good at keyboarding text entry and use of a 1980s computer. Either he’d be pissed off because because there was no way to use this antique, or he’d be delighted at the chance to use his historical reenactment skills.

Is “college town” agreed to be a denigration? I’d take it as a fairly complex descriptor that could be good or bad depending on your situation. I loved living in college towns. I’m not desperate to move back to one, but I could easily see myself retiring in one, and if you want a small town with more cultural and sporting options and a better educated populace than its peers, then putting up with some rowdy undergrads and a quirky mix of available businesses could be a perfectly sensible tradeoff.

cultural things that similar-sized other towns don’t have

Exactly. Similar sized. College towns punch above their weight when compared to their population peers, but that only goes so far. I have no doubt Pullman, Washington is cooler and more cosmopolitan than Walla Walla (despite the presence of two very small colleges), but it’s no Seattle, for good or for ill, depending on your perspective.

Okay, my ten year old loves these two games and has occasionally mentioned people playing them on emulators. She has no complaints (possibly because she’s ten), and TBH when watching her play on the living room tv they look… fine? What is so terrible about the way they run natively? Legitimately curious.

Ahh, got it. Never got very deep into Westworld.

Unexpected Shakespeare. Nice.

And yummy.

Those arrow keys are confusing, but I can see why the first thought was to place them like that

I’ve seen worse. The Commodore 64 used two arrow keys and Shift. Many 8-bit computers split them onto completely different sides of the keyboard, and nobody agreed on what the layout should be, even if the group was similar. Finally, DEC and then IBM standardized the inverted T, and all was right with the world.

Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground. And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check? There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground. I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: Ah, Center, much thanks, We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money. For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with: Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one. It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

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There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground. Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed. Twin Beach, I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed. Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check…

This is also age and culturally contextual. If kid and dad are on the same page about why junior is still living there, and if Dad is financially secure, he may want kid to pay down debt and be ready to jump straight to a nice place of their own. Now, if the family unit overall could use the help, and there is no specific plan for junior to move out, and and they’re just sandbagging to have more money in their pocket after paying down student loans, it could be kinda shitty. Paying down the debt is not bad; minimizing overall cost of living for the family is not bad; what Boop2133 does with their money beyond loan payments might be bad.