Went to The Pub Monday night. I was going to take the tram, but after waiting for a while, I got bored and jumped into a taxi instead. I was running late, and Elvis hates me to ride the trams by myself at night, so no guilt. Well, no justifiable guilt, I suppose. Taxis have gotten so damn expensive with the advent of the Euro, I can't help looking a the meter and thinking "that's one beer. One-point-five. Two beers. Two beers and a shot...." Eleven Euros, it cost me, and I didn't even have it pick me up at home.

That's two beers and a pizza, if you're interested. Before Euroland, if I called a taxi and had it pick me up at home, it was a two beer ride. Such a waste, but it makes Elvis happy.

The taxi was driven by Coconut-Boy. He was kind of creepy, with furry black eyebrows and a buzz cut bleached so white I felt a strange compulsion to search his scalp for lesions. Incredibly, given his relative lack of hair, he managed to use about half a tub of coconut oil on it. The taxi reeked of it, and the odor washed over me before I even got the car door half-way open. It wasn't so much hair-dressing as marination.

I hate coconut.

I think my coat still smells of it. Euww.

Saw Ramses and the Russian. Ramses was in a good mood, as his Swiss girlfried had just been down to visit him for the weekend. This is good news, because after they saw each other around New Year's, he had told me that they had decided to pretty much put an end to it for logistical reasons. She has a good job, an honest-to-God career, in Switzerland, and she does not want to move.

Ramses would move, but the Swiss don't want him. Which is unfortunate for them, because he is very intelligent, hard-working, sweet, handsome, funny and good-citizen material in general. Of course the Swiss, being more than mildly xenophobic, see only an Egyptian man with Arabic looks and an inconvenient religion. Even though he's hardly fanatical about Islam. He observes Ramadan and other dietary strictures, but also drinks alcohol and has a generally modern, Western outlook on life. And even though, as Ramses reminds me himself, the most famous eleven highjackers in the world had the same traits as himself-- or seemed to have them-- it still makes me angry.

In fact, I'm more angry about the situation than Ramses, I think. He seems to just accept it. Of course, he might be able to get the necessary visa and whatnot someday. But it's hardly something he can count on, is it?

Life is so unfair sometimes.

On the other hand, they still seem to be together, in spite of it all. Maybe they'll be able to make it work, somehow. I hope so.

We had a good time. Rocked to Queen, grooved to Marvin Gaye. Gossiped and bitched and drank plenty but not enough to make hangovers a potential issue. The Russian did not ply us with shots. Forgot to eat, though. That happens sometimes.

Il Capo called us a taxi to get home, one that did not reek of coconut, and life was good.

I downloaded Norton Anti-virus last week, on one of those try-before-you-buy deals. I had McAfee, which came with this laptop, and didn't like it, so when it expired I figured I'd try something else. Elvis has Norton. Elvis likes Norton. Why not give Norton a try?

So I did. I like it. I want to buy it, which should be easy as every time I fire up the laptop a window pops up telling me how much time I have left, and asking what I want to do. So today, I hopped right on the internet to buy the sucker. Fill in some forms, and we're all done.

Or are we?

Norton wants me to download another copy.

I don't want to download another copy. It takes hours, and unlike US phone service, I have to pay for every minute or second thereof. Surely there is some way just to stick my confirmation number into the program I already have installed and live-updated and whatever else. Except, I can't find a way to do that.

So I try to ask Symatec. Over the web, should be easy, right? Right. I get stuck in their byzantine, labyrinthine on-line help system. Twenty-seven menus later, I am no closer to an answer, just the realization that, as much as I loathe telephonic voice-mail customer support systems, they've never brought me close to tears of frustration. And I'm not even pre-menstrual. And that it's really a shame Dante was never able to encounter this, because not only could he have added another circle of Hell, he could have populated it with whoever the Hell designed this damn thing. And while we're at it, Lord, You do plan to knock a bit off of my Purgatory time for this, don't You? Please?

But I'm stubborn. I think, maybe if I just re-register this thing, and do it as paid this time instead of trial-basis, it might just solve the problem. Except, as I go waltzing through the progam itself, and then the help menus, I can't find the registration thingy anywhere.

No sweat! I know how to fix this one. Re-boot the computer, the menu-wizard window will pop up automatically.

So I do, and it doesn't. No warnings about how many days I have left whatsoever. Norton simply went into anti-virus mode. As far as I can tell, that must mean that it was done automatically. So, I'm going to proceed on the somewhat risky assumption that everything is hunky-dory.

I'm still angry, but at whom? Myself, for wasting all that time, or Norton for not telling me that I didn't have to?

Of course, if it fails to work 21 days from now because it thinks I haven't paid for it, I will be royally annoyed indeed. In fact, I shall be livid.

But at whom?