Truly, having removed my perfectly good Kubuntu partition, to install SuSE (as I’ve been saying I would these past few weeks), only to get frustrated and install Ubuntu, instead, I can say this was a case of an itchy backside that turned out all right.

The short of it is that SuSE, in all its glossy, professional gleam, turned out to be quite the pain to get around, with regards to installing the driver for my graphics card. This was especially crucial, given that the proprietary graphics driver didn’t support my wide screen resolution, and I was viewing everything much as if I were stretching the sides of my eyes in opposite directions. Try it. No, really—try it.

It did well in being handy straight out of the box though; no network connections to reset, and it used both processor cores on my laptop without me telling it to. I liked that. It refused, however, to log onto my office network, which Kubuntu (and Ubuntu, as I later found) did effortlessly. And the rest of the process was an experience not altogether unlike wading in a trash heap in search of just that one fishbone—unpleasant, dizzying and disorienting.

Eventually, I said goodbye in favour of Ubuntu; I figured, if I was already embarking on a GNOME interface, I might as well try Kubuntu’s cousin offering.

And much like Kubuntu, it’s fantastic. Crisp, clean, and a great way of moving around. Perhaps it’s because I was already used to Kubuntu. Either way, I don’t think I’ll be saying goodbye to this distribution quite yet. And it’ll be even longer before I jump onto another one just because it’s branded.

A friend, in an e-mail, was recently incensed over someone in a neighbouring cubicle at the office toilet, who clearly didn’t understand commonsense “toilet ettiquette”, as she put it. Apparently, the offender took her time in the stall whilst the both of them did, um, number twos. She claims the first person to flush ought to get first dibs on leaving the stall, washing her hands and exiting the restroom, full dignity intact.

However, Offending Neighbour decided to flush shortly after she did, and (the gall of the woman!) come out to wash her hands as well, creating the awkward situation of simultaneous hand-washing and destroying the anonymity that The Code mandates.

While I think that it all makes sense, in that pooping, being the awfully embarrassing and shame-bringing activity it is, requiring for extra care to be taken around its execution, I haven’t yet been called upon to exact the appropriate steps, simply because I typically dash out of a stall if I find that anyone in it is doing number twos. I mean, for heaven’s sake; can’t you people float some toilet paper in the water to mask the plop and while you’re at it, light a match? I quite nearly sustained a sprained neck the last time I made a mad dash out.

And then you have someone like Mary J. Blige, who demands a new toilet (and toilet seat cover) for each venue she plays in. Of course, people are up in arms about this, but hey, maybe the girl’s got OCD. You never know. She could find the thought of touching her bum on a surface someone else’s bare bum has previously touched completely frightful. And she’s a celebrity, to boot. Neurosis? Celebrity status? That’s a double-whammy, if I ever saw one.

As one of the commenters, “Adcole, Baltimore” in the link above says:

Ladies don’t hate Mary is Mary , She cleansed her life ! Why her toilet is a big deal to anyone. Its called germs…….. get over yourselves…

My new office coworkers are reportedly obsessed with the Bristol Stool Chart. While I’d love to participate and get in on idle office banter, I’m not sure I’m up to it. I haven’t checked in years. For all I know, it could be rainbow-coloured, and I’ve missed my chance with Ripley’s Believe it or Not!, just because poo irks me.

And I’m not even Mary J. Blige.