Glorious

After listening to Jack Johnson’s third album, "In Between Dreams," for about two days straight (what else is there to do when you’re stuck in bed?), I find "Belle" to be the most charming song. The light, Spanishy/island guitar intro followed by the Frenchy accordion, followed by lyrics penned with Johnson’s classic, subtle humor:

Oi lienda
Bella, che fa?
Bonita, bonita que tal?
But Belle
Je ne comprends… pas…
Francais
So you’ll have to speak to me
Some other way

That being said, it’s a good album (if anything, because it has a track titled "Banana Pancakes"– yum!), but I still like his debut best of all.

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Resurrection

Kipper is back in my possession.

The good news: He’s operating as smoothly as he did the very first day I got him and is done fixed an’ rarin’ t’go.

The bad news: He’s operating so smoothly because he practically is brand new, as the people who fixed him put in completely new parts, meaning my old ones are gone.

The good news: I didn’t have to pay a single cent for any of the repairs or replacements.

The bad news: One of the things that had to be replaced was, surprise surprise, my hard drive.

The good news: I wisely signed up to have my old hard drive backed up before Kipper was sent out for the repairs, in case the repair people had to replace or wipe my hard drive.

The bad news: The damn thing was really expensive.

The good news: I didn’t have to pay for it!

The bad news: Because they didn’t do it! (Okay, to be fair, apparently they COULDN’T do it.) Which means I don’t have anything created and/or saved on this computer since September, except for the journal, which was archived near the end of March, which is still practically three months ago, and I know it’s only three months and what’s three months in the course of a lifetime?– but those were three pretty damn important months to me, and I was none too okay with accepting the loss.

Not to mention, now I have to copy over ALL of my music files again. And I’ve lost all my photos, so whatever I didn’t upload to Yahoo!, is permanently gone. Including my Gainesville photos. Which really, REALLY pisses me off.

But, in between my grumbling, in between my fretful wringing of the hands– yes, I’m glad to have my computer back. I really don’t like having to pay my bills through snail mail anymore. And now, now! I can play this game or this game and drive myself nuts in the process.

Third party conversations

I have this (according to The Guy) aggravating habit of turning to him and asking him a question that has absolutely nothing to do with what we are or have been talking about, as well as absolutely nothing to do with anything that is going on in our current environment.

The most recent example I can think of (though he claims I do this ALL the time) was from a week or two ago, when I wandered into my bathroom to clean and suddenly called out to him in the bedroom– "Hey, did Rachel ever get married?"

I don’t know why he complains about this, since he nearly always figures out what the hell I’m talking about– he replied, "No, except for that one time with Ross when they were drunk."

I’ve been trying to figure out why I do this to him. Do I get some perverse sort of pleasure out of watching him rack his brain as he wildly tries to guess at the full meaning behind my questions? Or do I just blindly assume that because we like each other so much, we’re on the same wavelength and I don’t need to explain anything?

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that, to me, the questions don’t come out of nowhere. In my head, one thought process led to another and in all likelihood, I debated the matter silently with myself for a couple of minutes before opening my mouth and asking the question aloud. So probably, subconsciously, some sort of conversation such as the following took place in my brain:

Me: No, no, it had to have been the second weekend of March. Remember, it was raining that morning and that’s why you wanted to go there.
Me: But I could have sworn it was the first weekend! Because the last weekend of January was the Super Bowl and–
Me: But it couldn’t have been the first weekend because that’s when you bought all those books.
Me: Really? I bought my books that weekend? But what about..?
Me: Hey, why don’t we just ask [The Guy]?
Me: Hey, good idea! We’ve been ignoring him anyway, kind of rude to just leave him out of the discussion for so long, anyway.

[spoken]
Me: Wasn’t it the *second* weekend of March?
[beat]
The Guy: …What??

One day, I will have a little device that will translate Lora-speak into actual, good old-fashioned English, and all the subtleties and nuances of dialogue that are packed into my seemingly stark-naked questions, will be bared for the world to see. And then, and then, everyone will finally realize that I’m not crazy after all.

I think.

You should now start redirecting

  • In times of hardship, when posting is scarce or just kind of crappy in general, I would highly recommend visiting kottke.org. That’s where I steal most of my Outbound links from, anyway.

Recent kottke.org headlines that piqued my interest:

I really don’t know why I’ve been in bullet mode so much lately. I think work is starting to take over the entirety of my brain.

Another Blase reCap

Did you know that if you don’t chew a Pringle thoroughly enough and thereby accidentally swallow a chip shard which promptly becomes lodged in your trachea instead of your esophagus, but you’re too proud to admit that you’ve encountered a misfortune as a result of your gluttonous haste so you try to pass it off like nothing has happened and stubbornly try to swallow the bit of food which is in the next physiological system over– your body will override your brain and will force that sour-cream-and-onion flavored sucker out of your windpipe so fast and so hard that in the span of 1.5 seconds, you will:

  • Have a brief chest spasm
  • Lurch forward
  • and cough, just once, but violently enough that the chip will SHOOT out of your mouth with a trajectory like you wouldn’t believe. You could take out someone’s eye with this sort of thing.

Did you know that? I didn’t know that. I do now, but I sure as hell didn’t know twenty minutes ago.

Anyway.

I’m finding life rather difficult to endure without a computer. Not necessarily Internet, though a computer without Internet, regardless of the speed, is, to me, something like a car without wheels, or a kitten without whiskers. What’s the point of only having one half of the essential goodness? But if I had to have a choice, I’d still take the Internet-less computer over the no-computer-at-all scenario, simply because, no computer = no writing. And those who know me, know I can’t go more than two days without being able to write, unless those two days are spent in their entirety, sleeping. But even then, I suspect I’d reach for my laptop while still asleep and just type out nonsense. Sleep-writing, if you will. I’m *that* addicted.

I guess my comprehension of time is just skewed. As I idiotically believed six months ago that signing a one-year lease was nothing major, SURELY I could live somewhere for a whole year without getting antsy!– so I idiotically believed that "eight days to two weeks" without my comptuer would be more than bearable. I’m either delusional or… well… really, really delusional. Then again, there was no other way of getting Kipper fixed. And in the state he was in, I pretty much had no computer.

Still. A life without being able to type out my thoughts and happenings at 80 wpm, a life without kottke.org and Gmail, a life without live streaming of 91X– not really my kind of life. Which isn’t to say I couldn’t, for instance, travel without my computer. I could. I just prefer not to. (Which isn’t to say I travel just so I can bury my nose in my keyboard the entire time– but every once in a while, when I need to write or read up on current news events, it’s nice to be able to pull out the laptop and catch up on the daily grind.)

Speaking of traveling: summer approaches, and summer, for me, is equivalent to plane rides and car drives and packed bags and yummy food. The last week or two, I’ve been craving a trip back to California, to San Diego or Camarillo or San Luis Obispo or San Francisco– and also, I’ve been craving theme parks; namely, Disneyland.

Today, it crossed my mind that I could kill two birds with one stone and just go to the California Adventure theme park. But then, I’ve heard that place is pretty craptacular.

So yeah. I might be taking a trip out to San Francisco one of these Saturdays, if I can ever stop being a complete wimp and force myself to give up a whole Saturday with The Guy. Understand that I don’t see a lot of him during the workweek, so weekends are like gold for this relationship, Saturdays being the crown jewel. Thus, I don’t part well with my Saturdays.

[Ed: one-and-a-half hours span this interval, thanks to a phone call.]

Work: long days. Ten hours yesterday, twelve hours today, ten hours tomorrow… long days, but after six weeks, still not one "bad" day. Hard days, sure, but not bad. A good sign, I think.

Kind of excited because I’m not going in until 7:30 tomorrow morning– meaning I can go to sleep at midnight (two hours from now!) and still get six hours of sleep. Faboo!

So, yeah.

The things you learn

I began my mastery of the handsaw tonight, practicing my hacking skills on an unruly fig tree and a dead apricot tree. My mother, after witnessing my relentless glee whilst dismembering the poor trees, now regrets handing over the saw to me. What can I say? I’ve only got six more years until my first high school reunion, and I have to live up to everyone’s voting me as "Most Likely To Become an Out-of-the-Blue Serial Hacksaw Murderer." And it takes time to build up a reputation like that, BELIEVE ME.

Other things learned tonight:

  • Looking up at a dead branch while trying to shave off all the dead leaves, isn’t so much of a good idea.
  • Yes, that orange chiffon cake is heavenly, but having to experience that full feeling on top of a pre-existing full feeling, isn’t so much of a fun time
  • The lessons I learn aren’t really useful lessons, but I guess that’s another lesson learned, eh?

On a side note, if I don’t manage to conceive Dane Cook’s child on July 3 and Defective Yeti’s wife, in an uber-liberal move, consents to letting the DY contribute his genetic makeup to a complete stranger in an effort to make the world a funnier place, I am all about taking a spur-of-the-moment trip out to Seattle. A funny baby is a funny baby the whole world ’round, but a funny baby who grows up to be a funny, funny man? Now *that’s* a kid I’ll brag about having raised.

Tip #4: Cutting edge

Tip: You won’t be very successful if you try to cut food while holding the knife upside-down…

…especially if you’re trying to slice a very delicate orange chiffon cake.

Trust me. Knife blades have only *one* sharp edge, and that sharp edge? That’s the one that’s meant for cutting.

Poor Kipper, Pt. II

I just dropped Kipper off at the Sahara CompUSA store tonight, after going to the Apple Store only to find they were booked for the rest of the evening. As I purchased an extended warranty through CompUSA when I *bought* my laptop, I figured I may as well make use of that damned expensive thing and just get Kipper fixed through them.

To be honest, I had low hopes of getting anywhere with those people, as the last time Kipper was malfunctioning, I took him to the Henderson CompUSA and the damn tech people who were working that afternoon, upon learning that my product was a Macintosh and that it was still under the manufacturer’s warranty, promptly told me to go to the Apple Store. Without even asking what the problem was. And after I’d already explained that I had PURCHASED A WARRANTY THROUGH COMPUSA. The way they’d handled the situation made me wonder what the hell the point was in my buying the warranty, if I was just going to consistently be sent to the Apple Store for my problems and all because nobody at CompUSA knows how to work with Macs.

But the Sahara people were nice and wonderful and helpful, and I left Kipper in their hands, hands which will do their utmost to backup my hard drive and save all my files (my muy importante files) before sending him off to another store with an Apple techie, where Kipper will hopefully be fixed and at no cost to me, thanks to that (formerly damned to hell by me) warranty.

One of the people who helped me tonight was a woman, and I think she was a manager of sorts in the tech support department. Friendly, capable women who work with computers or other IT fields always appeal to me, I don’t know why. I suppose Freud could chalk it up as something like, they represent a maternal version of my father.

Kipper should be back in my possession within two weeks, tops. I’m hoping for eight days, but whatever it takes to fix my little Apple streudel, right? Stuff and bother.

Just call me Eileen

A: Who’s up for a game of "Scene It"?
Me: Eh… what time is it?
The Guy: A quarter to one (IN THE MORNING).
Me: [long, contemplative pause]
J: Oh, come on, it won’t take that long. Come on!!
Me: [testily] Don’t "come on" me!

And that last statement was proof that I was tired and had to go home. How else could I have let myself say something like that in the midst of some of the most perverted minds around, minds that like to come up with porn movie titles based on actual box office releases, titles like "Semen-biscuit" and "13 Going Down on 30"?