Tuesday, September 27, 2005
I think I can…
... use my fancy new DSL connection to play a song for y’all.
Here’s a pretty one which gets heavy rotation on my playlist:
Emmylou Harris, Red_Dirt_Girl [link removed]
The usual caveats and provisos apply: This is for your listening pleasure only, temporary, etc. Play nice in the sandbox. If you like it, buy the music. Go to concerts. Be a Good Person.
Friday, September 23, 2005
My Woes
I know you don’t want to hear my daily woes. Before blogging I foreswore the diary model. But it has been awhile since I posted and I’ve got to put blame where it belongs.
It’s all SBC’s fault.
Let me provide one of many illustrative examples:
‘Mouse: I’m calling about my DSL order which I placed ten days ago.
SBC: What DSL order?
‘Mouse: The one I placed under confirmation number XXX on… September 9. Actually it was 11 days.
SBC: Oh, I see it right here. It wasn’t entered into the system.
‘Mouse: Um, do you think you can do anything about it?
SBC: I’ll put it right in. If you don’t have it in ten or 12 days, call us.
‘Mouse: Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggghhhhh!
Update. They then promptly shipped my DSL modem and it’s now plugged in. Of course I’m informed that the computer cannot flip the switch to turn on my service for ten days.
‘Mouse: Why will it take ten days to turn on service?
SBC: It’s done by computer.
‘Mouse: Aren’t computers pretty quick at flipping switches? Can’t you expedite this somehow?
SBC: Oh, we only expedite when we’ve made mistakes.
‘Mouse: Wasn’t failing to type in the order for eleven days a mistake?
SBC: No.
‘Mouse: (whimper)
Thursday, September 15, 2005
On the Road Again—Pie 4
I reached through the open window and gave Bonanza’s horn three long slow honks, trying to keep from sounding rude or impatient, but letting my missing hitchhiker know that I was up.
A few moments later, he came wandering back through the sagebrush, completely naked with streaks of dust in Indian war-paint patterns.
“Sorry, I had to get away from the road to do some yoga and greet the sun,” he said calmly. Naked. “Do you do yoga?”
“No,” I responded, taking another long drag on the lukewarm bottle of milk and grabbing half a dozen Oreo’s before pushing them toward him.
He said, “My name’s Joe.” “Thanks for picking me up last night.”
I grunted, told him my name out of habit and nodded toward the passenger seat.
“You might want to put something on, the vinyl gets pretty hot.”
He pulled a t-shirt and a dirty pair of jeans from his bag and climbed in.
“Toss out that pan of water so it doesn’t spill,” I said. “And don’t mind Lazarus, he mostly stays under the seat, but he may come out and nuzzle your ankles.”
Joe sat down carefully, but didn’t ask what Lazarus was. I liked that. He’d either figured it out or figured he would when the time was right.
“Where you headed?” I asked as I pulled the old VW out onto the deserted highway west.
Joe told me about the Shattered Box Ranch, which he said he thought was about 150 miles down the road. A place he’d worked before and hoped they’d take him back.