Apologies for the prolonged absence. Back in October I began to experience technical difficulties: after a few hours of non-use, my monitor would go into sleep mode and would refuse to awaken unless the computer was shut off and turned on again. A minor inconvenience, so I learned to live with it. Then in early November -- election night, as it so happens -- the monitor started going to sleep while the computer was still in use. I'm right in front of it, typing away, and then... nothing. "Monitor Going to Sleep," it said.
Going against my tendency to throw money at the problem -- the economy and all that -- I endured the painful procedure of following the slow steps in my computer's protection plan. (I did pay for this contingency, after all.) I shipped the monitor off to parts unknown, and tried another to use in the meantime. No dice. I decided the problem was the PC itself: maybe the video card, maybe the whole motherboard. Once reimbursed for the monitor, I purchased a new one and tested my theory. Still no picture. I had to wait a few more weeks for a contractually obligated service technician to order likely parts and stop by, sight unseen.
He came today. It was, indeed, a bad video card. The new one has the computer working, at least for now, but the TV tuner does not. I'll probably have to upgrade; recommendations are welcome.
Come back soon for the fruits of some much-needed online activity. Reviews of Slumdog Millionaire and Valkyrie. Developments in college basketball. And I may get around to some end-of-year summations. But I'm woefully out of practice.
Showing posts with label housekeeping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label housekeeping. Show all posts
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Movin' on up
Hiatus explained!
I'm working on an in-town move. The do-it-yourself kind. Painful and time consuming. No point in blogging at the moment.
Hiatus continued.
I'm working on an in-town move. The do-it-yourself kind. Painful and time consuming. No point in blogging at the moment.
Hiatus continued.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
To the discomfort!
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: First things first: to the death!
WESTLEY: No. To the pain.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase.
WESTLEY: I'll explain, and I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me.
WESTLEY: It won't be the last. "To the pain" means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: And then my tongue I suppose. I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight.
WESTLEY: I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: And then my ears. I understand, let's get on with it.
WESTLEY: Wrong! Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear God! What is that thing?" will echo in your perfect ears. That is what "to the pain" means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.
So, "to the death" is less than "to the pain," and by extension, both are less than "to the discomfort." (Trust me on this.)
Various neurological issues -- brought about officially and legitimately, with a Rx pad and everything -- rendered me useless over the past week, including the Thanksgiving holidays. Want to know what I wasn't so thankful for? Drug commercials that casually list "general muscle discomfort" as a possible side effect. But there it is, sandwiched nicely between "shortness of breath" and "frequent trips to the bathroom." I can deal with those; I've spent a good chunk of my life being embarrassed or of limited availability.
But people really should heed any warning of discomfort; it's worse than pain, because it's completely unmanageable. I've been restless and exhausted at the same time for the past several days, and it's an agonizing combo. My attention span was shot. I couldn't work on the computer or watch television for more than a few minutes at a time. (Prime example: I got through an otherwise entertaining episode of House in FIVE installments. Without ads, off the DVR.) I have to eat standing up. And forget about ordinary tasks like driving, reading, or carrying on a conversation.
Unfortunately, the aforementioned activities are about 95 percent of what I do while I'm awake. Which leaves, like, cleaning. So I employed a "fight fire with fire" mentality and overmedicated myself to allow for sleep (about 16 hours per day), but now I'm trying to undermedicate -- nothing stronger than Tylenol PM -- in an effort of personal restoration. My muscles are beginning to relax, but my brain is still a bit fried. That I write this past 3 on a Saturday night (check the posting time) lets you know how I'm doing thus far.
I won't say more, as this personal blog rarely gets this personal.
WESTLEY: No. To the pain.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase.
WESTLEY: I'll explain, and I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me.
WESTLEY: It won't be the last. "To the pain" means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: And then my tongue I suppose. I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight.
WESTLEY: I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.
PRINCE HUMPERDINCK: And then my ears. I understand, let's get on with it.
WESTLEY: Wrong! Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear God! What is that thing?" will echo in your perfect ears. That is what "to the pain" means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.
So, "to the death" is less than "to the pain," and by extension, both are less than "to the discomfort." (Trust me on this.)
Various neurological issues -- brought about officially and legitimately, with a Rx pad and everything -- rendered me useless over the past week, including the Thanksgiving holidays. Want to know what I wasn't so thankful for? Drug commercials that casually list "general muscle discomfort" as a possible side effect. But there it is, sandwiched nicely between "shortness of breath" and "frequent trips to the bathroom." I can deal with those; I've spent a good chunk of my life being embarrassed or of limited availability.
But people really should heed any warning of discomfort; it's worse than pain, because it's completely unmanageable. I've been restless and exhausted at the same time for the past several days, and it's an agonizing combo. My attention span was shot. I couldn't work on the computer or watch television for more than a few minutes at a time. (Prime example: I got through an otherwise entertaining episode of House in FIVE installments. Without ads, off the DVR.) I have to eat standing up. And forget about ordinary tasks like driving, reading, or carrying on a conversation.
Unfortunately, the aforementioned activities are about 95 percent of what I do while I'm awake. Which leaves, like, cleaning. So I employed a "fight fire with fire" mentality and overmedicated myself to allow for sleep (about 16 hours per day), but now I'm trying to undermedicate -- nothing stronger than Tylenol PM -- in an effort of personal restoration. My muscles are beginning to relax, but my brain is still a bit fried. That I write this past 3 on a Saturday night (check the posting time) lets you know how I'm doing thus far.
I won't say more, as this personal blog rarely gets this personal.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Bunker mentality
When selling real estate, it helps to have a feature that makes your house stand out in the listings. It can be as common as a swimming pool or a city skyline view, or something rarer, like a waterfall or a courtyard. Up in Blaine, Washington, however, you can find a truly unique item: a 1900 square foot split level house with 3 bedrooms, 2+ baths, sunroom, new roof with skylights, cobblestone driveway, privacy fence, and 1400 square foot underground bunker.
According to Zillow, this massive fallout shelter lies 45 feet below the house and can hold up to 300 people. It even has a kitchenette! A house like this deserves its own website. Go ahead and click on "Subterranean fortress" to see photos. The house comes furnished with more than just furniture:
All bomb shelter supplies are stored on the lower 2 levels. Nitrogen-sealed food containers of wheat, corn, lentils and water. Other items include gas masks, vitamin C, tools, etc.
"Wow" falls short of my reaction. This is a place anyone (paranoid) would like to call home. The websites fail to emphasize another selling point: its proximity to the Canadian border. If we use the metric system -- might as well -- it's 200 meters. Here's a map.
How much do you want to bet that this bunker has a secret transnational tunnel? I'll wager fifty Canadian dollars.
Down there, Story 69 September knows no boundaries.
Charles felt uncomfortable in the community center
basement, listening to the stories of Fetishists Anonymous.
He marveled at these tales of sandal strokers, cellophane
wearers, and vicarious bug crushers. As the center of
attention shifted closer to him, Charles squirmed in his
plastic chair.
When it was his turn to speak he remained silent. He was
too ashamed to admit he got off on consensual intercourse
with his wife.
According to Zillow, this massive fallout shelter lies 45 feet below the house and can hold up to 300 people. It even has a kitchenette! A house like this deserves its own website. Go ahead and click on "Subterranean fortress" to see photos. The house comes furnished with more than just furniture:
All bomb shelter supplies are stored on the lower 2 levels. Nitrogen-sealed food containers of wheat, corn, lentils and water. Other items include gas masks, vitamin C, tools, etc.
"Wow" falls short of my reaction. This is a place anyone (paranoid) would like to call home. The websites fail to emphasize another selling point: its proximity to the Canadian border. If we use the metric system -- might as well -- it's 200 meters. Here's a map.
How much do you want to bet that this bunker has a secret transnational tunnel? I'll wager fifty Canadian dollars.
Down there, Story 69 September knows no boundaries.
Charles felt uncomfortable in the community center
basement, listening to the stories of Fetishists Anonymous.
He marveled at these tales of sandal strokers, cellophane
wearers, and vicarious bug crushers. As the center of
attention shifted closer to him, Charles squirmed in his
plastic chair.
When it was his turn to speak he remained silent. He was
too ashamed to admit he got off on consensual intercourse
with his wife.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Ants marching
One of the nice things about living in a ridiculously dry climate is that ants and roaches are pretty much the only common insects that can cause a household problem. Once alerted to their presence, I administer a dose of pesticide around the perimeter of the house and inside the bathrooms, which are usually the problem areas. But I was too late this time.
A group of ants is called an army, which is appropriate because they excel in committing large scale stealth assaults against their targets. In this case, I'm talking about the snack and cereal pantry. There were many casualties. We're still sorting through the wreckage. Those who know me as a cereal fiend (we have about 30 varieties -- take that, Seinfeld!) will understand that I'm taking the loss pretty hard.
Making it worse is the use of various pest sprays in the kitchen, which has taken its toll on our immune systems and given us everything from the simple sniffle to the worst common symptom in the world, the postnasal drip.
Bugger.
A group of ants is called an army, which is appropriate because they excel in committing large scale stealth assaults against their targets. In this case, I'm talking about the snack and cereal pantry. There were many casualties. We're still sorting through the wreckage. Those who know me as a cereal fiend (we have about 30 varieties -- take that, Seinfeld!) will understand that I'm taking the loss pretty hard.
Making it worse is the use of various pest sprays in the kitchen, which has taken its toll on our immune systems and given us everything from the simple sniffle to the worst common symptom in the world, the postnasal drip.
Bugger.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Torsion breaker
The house's garage door opener stopped working last Sunday. As it turns out, one of the two torsion springs above the 200-pound, 24-gauge, 2-car door had broken. We became victims to fine language distinctions when we were informed that the home warranty company covers the opener itself, but not any other parts. (This kind of thing has happened before. They cover faucet leaks, but not when the faucet has succumbed to wear and tear. Who writes these policies? Oh yeah, my colleagues.)
I considered buying and replacing the part myself. The repairmen who came to the house to tell me the home warranty didn't help (and thanks for the dispatch fee) mildly hinted that the do-it-yourself option was not recommended. A quick Google search (with links like the one above) reinforced that notion by adding words like "deadly," "maimed," and "skydiving is safer." Then they proceeded to mock this guy who had done it himself and had chronicled at length how anyone else can too. Point taken.
The repairmen quoted a price of $160 to replace both springs. I told them I'd shop around. For now we've disabled the door so we can open it manually, and keep the cars outside.
I considered buying and replacing the part myself. The repairmen who came to the house to tell me the home warranty didn't help (and thanks for the dispatch fee) mildly hinted that the do-it-yourself option was not recommended. A quick Google search (with links like the one above) reinforced that notion by adding words like "deadly," "maimed," and "skydiving is safer." Then they proceeded to mock this guy who had done it himself and had chronicled at length how anyone else can too. Point taken.
The repairmen quoted a price of $160 to replace both springs. I told them I'd shop around. For now we've disabled the door so we can open it manually, and keep the cars outside.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Getting into hot water
Our water heater burst Tuesday morning, which was bad because:
1. We like hot water. It is good for skin and laundry.
2. When water leaks, it tends to go somewhere, usually down. On the ground.
However, the situation was not made worse because:
1. Gym memberships come with free hot showers. They should advertise that.
2. The water heater is set aside in a closet-like room with a concrete floor. So the water damage is fairly limited.
3. The damn thing is covered under a home warranty. The local plumbing service replaces the unit for free and all we pay a $45 dispatching fee.
Well, almost. Reality (and the law) set in Wednesday afternoon when the service provider explained to me that in the city of Las Vegas, you need a permit and earthquake straps before you can have a new water heater installed. (Earthquake straps? Really? Are they still worried about Lex Luthor's dastardly plan from the first Superman movie?) The service provider said that he could do those things that day for an extra $350. We said no thanks, see ya tomorrow, we'd take care of that ourselves.
Off to the nearest Clark County Building Department office. Yuck. Not as intimidating as the DMV, or as depressing as the Social Security office, but certainly the most confusing, with the sheer number of differently-purposed counters -- each with its own line -- and an unattended info desk tucked away in the corner. Equally intimidating were the other applicants, most of which were carrying blueprints and other detailed information for their projects. (I didn't even bring a pen.)
My father and I trusted our instincts and got into the 2 necessary lines, so that he was in front of the issuing line by the time my application was ready and approved. We hightailed it out of there and picked up the earthquake straps from Home Depot. Total cost: under $34. Just remind me never to go into construction law.
Today was a comparative breeze. The service provider waived the $50 disposal fee, probably because a broken water heater has aftermarket scrap value, and installed a newer, more efficient water heater. We probably got the value of the annual home warranty premium off this one incident. And I'm loving the fact that I can shower at home again. In fact, I'm showering right now.
1. We like hot water. It is good for skin and laundry.
2. When water leaks, it tends to go somewhere, usually down. On the ground.
However, the situation was not made worse because:
1. Gym memberships come with free hot showers. They should advertise that.
2. The water heater is set aside in a closet-like room with a concrete floor. So the water damage is fairly limited.
3. The damn thing is covered under a home warranty. The local plumbing service replaces the unit for free and all we pay a $45 dispatching fee.
Well, almost. Reality (and the law) set in Wednesday afternoon when the service provider explained to me that in the city of Las Vegas, you need a permit and earthquake straps before you can have a new water heater installed. (Earthquake straps? Really? Are they still worried about Lex Luthor's dastardly plan from the first Superman movie?) The service provider said that he could do those things that day for an extra $350. We said no thanks, see ya tomorrow, we'd take care of that ourselves.
Off to the nearest Clark County Building Department office. Yuck. Not as intimidating as the DMV, or as depressing as the Social Security office, but certainly the most confusing, with the sheer number of differently-purposed counters -- each with its own line -- and an unattended info desk tucked away in the corner. Equally intimidating were the other applicants, most of which were carrying blueprints and other detailed information for their projects. (I didn't even bring a pen.)
My father and I trusted our instincts and got into the 2 necessary lines, so that he was in front of the issuing line by the time my application was ready and approved. We hightailed it out of there and picked up the earthquake straps from Home Depot. Total cost: under $34. Just remind me never to go into construction law.
Today was a comparative breeze. The service provider waived the $50 disposal fee, probably because a broken water heater has aftermarket scrap value, and installed a newer, more efficient water heater. We probably got the value of the annual home warranty premium off this one incident. And I'm loving the fact that I can shower at home again. In fact, I'm showering right now.
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