…you’re wasting your time.
Well, I’m still not here.
Meaning, I’m writing this entry on my own computer, on Sunday night, saving it, bringing the disc in to work, and posting this crap with the help of a computer that has (ohmygod, perish the thought) functioning internet capability.
And you question my commitment to this blog.
How dare you, sir!?!
Lots has been going on as of late, but I suppose the most “important” info relates to my internet connection, or lack thereof. As you can tell, I’m still handicapped (sorry, I’m actually “handicapable”) by a problem no one seems to be able to diagnose.
I had Geeks on Call come by the other night, as I’d mentioned, and the long and the short of it is/was that they would have charged me an arm and a leg to stay long enough to figure things out. It could have been hours, and hundreds and hundreds of dollars. The guy who came by had no idea how to do anything other than state the obvious, which is that the connection was down for some strange reason. On top of this, he spoke a mile a minute, mostly in technobabble, and I… having already dealt with this for several months, now, had neither the time nor the proverbial patience for his nonsense.
Thankfully, he *did* give me the choice of paying through the nose— he let me know what could have been coming, were he to stay, and he gave me the option of avoiding it.
I thanked him, graciously, for that knowledge… and then I kicked him right the hell out of my apartment.
This was followed by an hour-plus exchange with a Comcast representative during my lunch hour at work, the next day, where I may or may not have fired the following salvo in mid-rant (believe it or not, I had called to make an appointment with a Comcast technician, and somehow found myself talking to someone based in Canada):
“I swear to God, I will take a torch to Comcast’s headquarters, and light the building on fire, whether you are in there or not, if you do not tell me what I need to know, immediately.”
Something like that.
Hypothetically spoken, of course. I’d never actually say such a thing.
So, hopefully, a senior Comcast technician is coming by Wednesday night. If he is not able to assist me, however, I may take a hostage. I’m not sure.
Have any of you taken hostages before? I don’t know what the rules are on such a thing-- how to do it properly and efficiently, what to demand… you know. So, your input would be greatly appreciated.
At the same time that my computer is causing woes, my diet has gone in the shitter as well, if only temporarily. I gained back a few of the pounds I’d lost, probably because I've been comforting myself with the “I’m not going to starve myself” mantra, which has generally been followed by fast food and/or sausage consumption.
So. No more excuses. We start anew.
And my target weight? Wanna know what it is???
There. I said it. 120 pounds. Sure, I know what you’re thinking— I’ve got quite a-ways to go, but you know what they say about the journey of a thousand miles, or something.
Anyway. Say hello to the newest devotee of the starvation diet. Should you hear my stomach growling from your domicile… ignore it. Otherwise, it will only keep bothering you, pestering you for bonbons.
With a whole lot of Borders Bucks, I bought the Mr. Show box set this weekend.
I’d been meaning to get it for a long time, even having seen all the eps and extras long ago.
Having watched the first disc already… it might rank as the purchase of the year. So, so very good. If you missed it, please let me know… I promise never to shut up about it.
Also making me surprisingly happy was Steve Coogan in the Netflixed Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story.
I’ve never read the book (apparently, it was #8 on The Observer’s top 100 books of all time (movie joke alert)), but the movie was about as fantastically post-modern, if not beyond such, as is conceivable. Coogan is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors, if not due to his talent, then due to his choice of material. If you never saw him in 24 Hour Party People… it’s completely and totally your loss.
Both movies are worth a rental, even if you have no idea what to expect.
Especially so, come to think of it.
If nothing else, you’ll learn that “Tristram” has two “r’s,” and not one, as I’d always thought.
Some English major I was, huh?
On another note: I’m exhausted.
I had my “Introduction to Rock Climbing” course today. I’d invited Teso to come along, but of course he had more important things to do, like… I dunno… decoupage.
And the verdict (on the rock climbing) is…?
I enjoyed myself… but I might not be doing it again anytime soon. First off, I am not a natural born knot-tier or harness-wearer, both notable prerequisites for becoming a successful rock climber. While I learned to tie the knots over time, my groin is still a mite upset with me concerning the harness thing.
Secondly… the sport seems to require two people, by and large— one to climb, and one to hold the rope (and, of course, one to change the light bulb). And I don’t know that many people who’d be willing to put up with someone (i.e., me) who’d be interested in rock climbing for less than 45 minutes at a time.
Which brings me to my last point. My hands. Rope burn. My shoulders. Muscle burn. My biceps. Er, more muscle burn.
See, it kinda hurts to rock climb. Presumably it hurts less as you learn what the hell you’re doing. But it also leaves you winded. Climbing 20 feet or so in the air, when there’s never a grabholdythingie where you need one… you realize you’re breathing pretty heavy. And then the fear sets in. And then…
You get my point. I might try it again, were someone to suggest it. But it was considerably more difficult than I’d guessed it would be. And, not having the stamina… my body fully supports my decision.
Tell me you watched the golf this afternoon.
It was absolutely remarkable, watching Tiger try desperately to give his tremendous mid-fourth round comeback away (he failed to do so—sucks being so great that you can’t even botch things on your worst day), in playoff holes, hitting a beautiful iron in the middle of a torrential downpour… I mean, non-major golf doesn’t get much more interesting.
Even more interesting than that, though? I’d never noticed before, but Yanni composed the PGA Golf theme music for CBS!
Is there anything that guy can’t do?
Major, major, MAJOR congratulations go to Andy, Laura and Peyton Hunt, on the birth of new daughter Mackenzie Jordan.
I’m just so happy for you guys.
And Coach Paterno sends his congratulations as well, I’m sure.
To Chris and Noel, and to Mom and Dad—have safe and happy vacations. I’m looking forward to seeing all of you again very soon.