The Week That Hit The Fan

 

The AC in the ICU will be DOA soon.  It’s 27 in human years or 150 in air conditioner years.

Freon’s dripping through holes in a tube causing a mid summer system freeze, like a PC’s CPU though desktops blow hot air mostly. The AC blows both hot and cold.

Doubles2xIt’s cantankerous and groans and often forgets where it leaves its keys. Last year it suffered from incontinence and leaked onto the floor in the utility room and then flowed into the basement. We should hire a visiting nurse to stop by every day to make sure the AC doesn’t fall or forgot to take its meds.

It’s also short tempered at times, yells at little kids to get off our lawn. I’m sick of apologizing to the neighbors about our rude air conditioner. When I ask it to be more sociable, it just hisses at me.

Nothing works. I’ve even tried grounding it. But the compressor hums happily outdoors where there’s no pressure. Besides, you can’t punish your elders, especially when they’re venting at you.

I rush home from work to make sure the AC’s still alive. On the way home in toasty 87 degree heat, I press several buttons on the dashboard for maximum cold air velocity.

A few minutes later, my back and butt bake on the hot faux leather. Menopause? I’m sure. But I’m wrong. I accidentally turned on the heated seat. Perfect end to a day in which I wadded through thick wet air, knee deep, without a life preserver.

And then back home again to the sound of the AC grunting and hocking up tube sealant while my password dysfunction shifted into fourth gear. A hacker from Tabasco Sauce, Mexico tried to log in to my email and burn my account.

I saw red, changed all my passwords and then five minutes later forgot them. Must be a symptom of underemployment isolation. That and creeping brain fog, both an evil distraction and my best friend.

It talks to me along with the AC and the characters in my head while my ears ring from a lack of social contact; silence at work and then at home, where I crank out the crazy, a jack-in-the-box, wound up tight, pops when the music in my head stops.

How’s your week been?

The Hail Mary Hissy Fit

 

Hail  Mary.jpg

Hail Mary.jpg (Photo credit: ToreaJade)

 

Sometimes you’ve got to vent, then pray it saves your head.

Let it go!

Let it rip!

Let it ride on black while you’re blue.

If it only stopped at red.

 

Instead, my unhinged roulette spins off course into a storm,

Down a ravine I didn’t see.

No time for a Hail Mary scream.

I hit rocky road bottom without the ice cream.

 

Where do I go when I’m down this low?

Not farther south to bellwether hell.

Sitting for an eternity in the afterlife breakroom,

Filling out the same form until my fingers bleed.

 

I ‘m not a big fan of fire or brimstone,

Of charred dreams roasting on a spit.

Don’t want to linger in God’s basement

Where the ambiance trends toward grim.

 

So, I search for sky and find it,

Get a grip on the craggy mountainside.

I look up, never down at dusty footprints left behind,

While I pace myself to avoid another slide.

 

I dig in, holding onto hope on a rope, without the bar of soap.

The beat of my feet a slow steady motion.

Don’t want to peak before the peak.

Energy lost from all the bitching, at the top, I will sleep.

 

One eye open,

One eye closed,

Looking forward, looking home.

Another day,

Another load of laundry,

Hampered by the memory of dirty clothes.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Microsoft, what were you thinking?

Bad Computer!

You're Fucked!

 

Never uninstall SoundMax from your computer. Yep, I did that and now my computer is mute and possibly even deaf.

What?

My computer can’t speak. Never could actually. That was my shrill voice echoing off the screen.

I just wanted to tidy up the desktop a bit – throw out the trash, get rid of all those piles – not the ones on my desk. I use them as barricades.

So, I went through the list of applications on CCleaner, a free software program that cleans PCs, kind of like a housekeeper for your computer.

And I saw this program called SoundMax.

I don’t need that, I thought. – Dump it!

Click! Wham, Pow! Splat!

I KOed that sucker, that stupid sounding application called SoundMax that I thought was cluttering up my hard drive.

I was proud of myself until I realized my computer couldn’t speak anymore – Not a whir or an oy vey!

“No active mixer devices found,” said the error message, in sign language, during a desktop search for a sound card.

Active mixer what?

I’ll put it another way. My computer stopped saying shit out loud.

But I didn’t – Shit!!!!

When watching a video, people’s lips moved but stupid crap didn’t spew from their mouths.

WTF?

So, I went back to CCleaner to try to reinstall that SoundMax program I thought I didn’t need but really, really need.

I tried reanimating it but in the world of PCs, once you kill a program, you can’t breathe life back into it.

At that moment, my husband walked into the room.

I accidentally uninstalled SoundMax, I said.

You shouldn’t have done that.

You think!

Try downloading it.

Shit, yeah! Great idea. NOT.

I Googled sound drivers, found a program called Sound Blaster and downloaded it. It didn’t fix the problem and even made things worse. It moved into my taskbar with all of its relatives, and now I can’t get rid of them.

Sound Blaster wasn’t on Microsoft’s populated list of applications. Of course, why would it be?

After hours of searching and purging spyware from my computer with SpyBot, crap that I had picked up in my cyber travels, I clicked on a Microsoft update from the control panel or wherever I ended up on my computer, and downloaded it – unzipped it – the program – and followed the set up prompts. Just when I thought my computer would regain the power of speech, I got the message: Missing HDA Audio Bus Driver – WTF!

Two weeks later, my computer’s still mute, my brain’s still mush.

And Microsoft is ready to announce Windows new breakthrough operating system, Shade.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Ninny Poop Head!

Yesterday, at five o’clock, my brain melted after a two-hour phone conversation with a QuickBooks ProAdvisor.

Gurgle! Sploosh!

She hijacked my desktop, remotely, and then commandeered my mouse.

The medium Eva Carrière with a light manifesta...

The medium Eva Carrière with a light manifestation between her hands and a materialization on her head. Carrière also performed under the names Eva C. and Marthe Béraud. Photograph taken in 1912 by German photographer Albert von Schrenck-Notzing (1862 – 1929). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Several windows opened and closed.

The cursor sped across the screen, telekinetically, and then screeched to a stop at the taskbar.

“Just press this!”  the ProAdvisor ordered.

Click.

WTF happened? The window disappeared. I think I just witnessed QuickBooks Armageddon.

The application quit when the locusts swarmed. Loser! So, what? It’s just a little buggy.

I shifted my chair into reverse, rolled backwards and braked.

Much safer here by the brimstone and fire.

In the name of the Lord, I renounce myself of QuickBooks.

It’s your mouse now. Feed it twice a day and give it plenty of water.

Now, click amongst yourselves.

If you need me, I’ll be over here doing my carpal tunnel exercises, bending and stretching my wrists, whilst you and QuickBooks consummate your relationship.

Be sure to remove the “Do Not Disturb” sign as soon as you’re done.

By that time, I’ll have roasted a bag of marshmallows and a bushel of brain cells.

Just send me the bill and I’ll send you the obituary.

At 5 p.m., Lauren’s brain died in the line of duty.  R.I.P. cognitive function.

Bilden är tagen 8 maj 1912 av Baron von Schren...

Bilden är tagen 8 maj 1912 av Baron von Schrenck-Notzing (1862-1929) och föreställer mediet Eva Carrière som frammanar ett ansikte av ektoplasma. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How’s your noggin?

Enhanced by Zemanta

Wireless Connection Lost! Patience Not Found!

Bond as Lady Angela in Patience, 1881

Bond as Lady Angela in Patience, 1881 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Recently, after jettisoning from my desktop into cyberspace, Firefox bypassed Google, rerouting me to Internet purgatory, and the message, “Server not found!”

I responded with, “Goddamn it! You lost it again!”

To which Firefox said, referring to itself in third person, “Firefox can’t find the server at www.google.com.”

How could you without Google Maps? 

Ignoring my internal babble, Firefox continued. “Check the address for typing errors such as www.example.com instead of www.example.com.”

I get it! I’m not an idiot!

“If you are unable to load any pages, check your computer’s network connection.”

I did. It’s not your fault! But, your condescending attitude
is pissing me off.

So, I unplugged and plugged the router several times and still just had two lousy blinking lights.

It was time to call Comcast.

My conversation with Miss Voice Prompt went something like —

“Welcome to Comcast. Encuentra in Español, diga nueve.”
Engrish, please.
“Dial the number where you are experiencing the problem.”
Because you know that I’m not using your crappy phone service.
“Dial 1 for high speed Internet, 2 for phone, and 3 for TV.”
Nothing for all of the above?
“If the last three digits of your phone number are 666, press 1.”
I press 1.
“Ah, I see you just made a payment for $150.”
I know. I'm a schmuck!
“An outage has been reported in your area.”
No shit!
“Our technicians are aware of the problem and currently working to resolve the problem.”
Meaning, they’re sitting on the asses drinking coffee.
“If you have any other questions, press 3.”
Why the fuck don’t I have service? No prompt for that?

Then, the insulting, sarcastic, knife thrust in the brain stem —

“Thank you for your patience.”

To which I replied, “Patience not found!”

Does your wireless service get you wired?

Enhanced by Zemanta

Slut Talk Radio – A Rush to Judgment

Do some men choose a career in radio to overcompensate for their tiny heads?

Wnmh microphone

Image via Wikipedia

I can’t think of any other reason for Rush Limbaugh to verbally abuse Sandra Fluke on the radio, his voice wafting like pig farts across the airwaves.

1 17 10 Bearman Cartoon Rush Limbaugh

Whether you like it or not, Limbaugh is a public figure and a role model to some, his words a catalyst for conversation around water coolers and dining room tables.

But, instead of, er, elevating the conversation and initiating a dialogue on the pros and cons of government’s influence in our lives – on both sides of the aisle – Rush stuck his hoof in his mouth and spewed pig crap all over his penis, er, microphone.

When an individual wields such immense power, affecting millions of people’s lives, it’s that individual’s responsibility to use that power as a teaching tool, not a weapon of mass destruction.

Discourse that devolves into name-calling is more indicative of elementary school banter and has no place on the airwaves.

Yes, blah, blah, blah, freedom of speech, and I have the right to turn off the radio. But an airwave jockey has no right to harass someone on the air and publicly humiliate them with vile schoolyard talk. That kind of talk drifts across the line of civility into the murky black hole of dangerous discourse.

Rush can apologize until his head explodes. He can try to silence the cacophony of outraged voices. But his archaic Cro-Magnon views and misogynist blather still lingers in the air like the stench from a gathering of pigs.

After all, he is what he speaks. He, who has no difficulty abusing a woman on the air, sets an example for younger, more impressionable minds and feeds the hate in others who find comfort in his toxic rhetoric.

It also illustrates how radical the Republican Party has become. Not one of the candidates has condemned Limbaugh for his hate speech. Instead, they chose a more tempered response to avoid alienating the king of right-wing talk and voice of the Republican Party.

Mitt Romney said it best.

“I’ll just say this, which is, it’s not the language I would have used.”

Way to go, Mitt!

Shame on you for not speaking out in defense of your wife and daughters.

I guess power is corrupting and those on a blind quest to fulfill their perceived destiny will pursue it at any cost. Where is the moral compass in the Republican Party? Where will they draw the line in the pig manure on insidious talk?

This is a Party of hypocrites and thieves. They lash out at government for having too much control of our lives, yet they want to steal our souls and control our bodies.

Bowing to Limbaugh, the grand Pooh-Bah gasbag and purveyor of hate, shows how far the Republican Party has devolved, surrendering control to the far-right element of the Party.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Congress Incinerates the American Dream

In light of last night’s report on Congressional insider trading, which aired on Sixty Minutes, I thought it was appropriate to repost this rant from April 2011.

 

Several years ago, the universe shifted and knocked most of us off our feet, while others still reap in the rewards.

The ground is still not stable.

 

Uncanny things can happen at night in desolate...

Image via Wikipedia

Every day we struggle to find a piece of debris that once was the American dream. The dream that has gotten away from most of us, that only one percent still holds.

Economic bon vivants and talking empty heads vomit words fed to them by lobbyists, while dining at restaurants, as, we, the people eat table scraps scattered across the floor.

It used to be easy to get in the door, but now there is a schism so wide it extends from shore to darkened shore, preventing us from picking up the dusty remnants of the American dream.

 

Fire in Dumpster

Image by benwatts via Flickr

We dust it off the homes we have to say goodbye to.

We dust it off the cars that were repossessed.

We dust it off our savings that dies slowly, while hooked up to life support.

We lost everything we once took for granted that we can’t take for granted anymore.

But not the bankers, politicians, and CEOs. They climb higher toward the pie in the sky on the greenbacks of the people that fell beneath them.

They are royalty and fat cats, gathering the leave-behinds that get smaller in the rearview mirrors of the cars driven by every man, for he is the fool who pays taxes and follows the rules, as lawyers hired by royalty help them jump through loopholes in the Cayman Islands.

 

Map of the Cayman Islands.

Image via Wikipedia

 

But there are other places to go.

They move their corporations out of the United States to countries with lower tax rates. See the jobs disappear faster than a politician can pull a lobbyist out of his ass.

Now the fat cats own the American dream, while Americans sit and dream of the way life used to be.

There was a time we derived pleasure from simplicity but nothing’s simple anymore.

Several years ago, the universe shifted and knocked most of us off our feet, while others still reap in the rewards.

How can that be? When the dream died, did it put the CEOs in charge?

When did, we, the people snuff the fire from our eyes?

The fire is our only hope for taking back the American dream. Out of the ashes, one day our dreams will grow.

In October we fanned the flames, and now the fire burns brightly throughout the world.

 

Enhanced by Zemanta