have owned?
I still have both. The 2.66 GHz Prescott and the 3.0 GHz Cedar Mill with HT. But both are slower than my Celeron 440.
Within the sphere of assorted CPUs, variable frequencies and architectures, it would presumably be a worthy thing to note that similarly with you, I've owned a Celeron 420. It was a good CPU and it overclocked from 1.6 GHz to 3.0 GHz fluently and efficaciously, offsetting the performance of the Pentium 4 520 (HT @ 2.8 GHz) to an expletive degree, which reversing the process and leaving the 420 without an overclock would have marked out a win for the Pentium.
Well, I do still have the processors somewhere. I had acquired many a P4 520 from Ebay about 10 years ago, however the boxes and the systems to which I've installed any P4 520s have long since said their final farewell to any practically practicable endurance and obsolescent retainment.
It is a wonderful and vivacious little world, that of the Pentium 4s. You remember about long and languorous blue taskbars, the lazy indifference of many hours marveling at that screen, Windows XP's screen, and feeling a type of inane superiority by reading off and delighting in the heightened frequency numeral marking the speed of the Processor, namely the Pentium 4's greatest appeal regarding consumer attention and unequalled pique; soft music lingering fainty in the ear, from either Media Player or YouTube, and multitasking, in its initially widened and glamorous stages concerning the mind in the odd hours of the night; where the cadence of the machine becomes swifter only in ranges, the appreciation of faster hardware dawning with each quota of memory spent irregardlessly toward some unparticular goal, making these starry experiences engulf us and the Pentium 4 generation many years after its practical deployment and coveted speed have failed to captivate us.
Long sentences, but it's somehow irretrievable I should picture lone basketballs thrown upward toward fluorescent hoops in darkened halls and Pentium 4 machines clicking above endlessly into the night, as magical as it would ever be, drawing the mind to cool and invigorating contemplations, casting off the hidden glamor of a glance or the hidden glamor of computing avidness within such memories that only night time or a long walk or a continuous portion of reminiscence may bring... It's all so hoary and obsolescent, yet I wish I could continually be borne along such memories and back, further into those rocky days of hardware, a consummation like a vivid dream.