Time for Slarvak

Well it's the shank of the evening. My two pets are on the floor and in the chair respectively, hovering around me in that it's-almost-time-for-bed mode. A bath is being drawn(not that I wouldn't recognize one if I saw it--okay, sorry for that one!), and preparations are being made for the end of another day.

Whew, once again! A beautiful sunny day, but a balls-to-the-wall working day. Feelin' it about now. As well as the 7.5 hours of work I put in, a day of grappling with 'the elements', technologically speaking. Namely, my cel phone, email and printer.

Somehow, through a Senior Moment or just life blindsighting me, I lost my cel phone over the weekend- transferred from a pants pocket to shirt pocket and then the ground someplace. Or someone else's pocket. At any rate, nowhere to be found. So I head out to the cel phone center(Verizon)just right after work, through nasty traffic(well, for a small city such as the one I live in) expecting a huge line of people like last time. No line, but I ended up paying more than I'd figured on, and the phone doesn't plug into the charger. Which involves another fucking trip out there tomorrow. This phone does take pictures, which should be fun--so long as we get the charger to work!

I have a new service provider for my Internet service(Comcast), who now have me switched over but my address book is all still in the old place. Minor hassle but still another one.

Along with my trip to the cel phone center tonight, I did get a long-procrastinated trip out of the way. Picked up a new printer/scanner tonight at Wal-Mart, just 2 seconds away from the cel phone place. But with the phone and email frustrations, I didn't even want to fuck with it. Just couldn't seem to hit that magic number 3. Shit hitting the fan in one's life, on whatever scale, seems to happen in threes. Karmic triumvirate. So the printer/scanner is still in the box, to be attended to later.

I kept thinking of that old Twilight Zone episode "A Thing About Machines", where the guy's appliances all turn against him: the TV radio and typewriter all say "get out of here, Finchley!" and everything else(including his electric shaver)attacks him as well. But then, unlike the protagonist here, I'm not a technophobe. Really, more of a technophile. So any attack here is really undeserved.

Well, just a part of life, these hassles and frustrations. All the same, it's preferable when things are working. At least it was a beautiful day in which to take one's lumps.

The bath is pouring. Soon it'll be time to pack it in for another day. One thing I remember from the old Saturday Night Live episodes of the Coneheads was their night-time rituals(among others)and their word for sleep. Slarvak.

Time for slarvak.