Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Colons and Reposting

Save BG’s colon! I sent mine through FullTilt (Bonus Code:HHEAD, can’t lose an opportunity to shill:)). BG is one of the best bloggers out there, and is someone who constantly inspires me to write better. The phrase “ripped him a new one” keeps coming to mind but it’s too early to try and make a joke out of it, so just hit the transfer button and show the guy some love.

The post below is one I wrote Saturday morning when I woke up, and I swear I posted it, but when I happened to look yesterday after posting it wasn’t there. So the question is, did it post and disappear or did I never post it to begin with?

If it is duplication, my apologies.


Four Cox vans, a fire rescue truck, and an ambulance are all parked in a disorganized cluster at 11 PM on a Friday…..

Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, and I suppose in a sense, it is. It’s just another Friday night at Casa de Head.

I was coming off of a winning multi-table session at the micro-limits and just surfing the wave of my buzz. I couldn’t play any more poker, at least for a bit because the pervs on Dateline were holding my attention and Showtime boxing was about to start. Mrs. Head was pre-scouting rentals and houses in Phoenix should we get some good news this week, and I’m pretty happy about that because it means she’s not on Amazon or Ebay or OverStock actually spending (that sentence sounds worse than the reality; she rarely buys anything, but I worry about spending sprees of debauched, Dionysian nature anyway). Then our connection goes kaput.

After doing all of the usual checks to make sure the problem isn’t my modem, router, or any of the PC’s, I call and evidently there’s a service outage in my area and techs have been dispatched. An hour goes by, then two. After the three hour mark comes and goes, I start pacing. This hasn’t happened in over two years, and even when it happened previously the connection was back up in less than a half hour. It really begins hitting home just how dependant I am on this intarweb thingy. It feels like I’m about to come out of my skin. I need info, any info, and I need it now. Who cares how useless it is? I need to be connected. Wired. Plugged in. Switched on.

Of course, the problem is right next to our house. I blame that loud, skateboarding 14-year old across the street. That’s where the ambulance is parked. I also indirectly blame our 55” TV. It seems like ever since we bought that thing the universe decided to run a new season of real life drama right outside of our house. Tuning in simply requires that we look out the window. The only problem is that we can’t turn it off, can’t change the channel, and our programming schedule seems to be perpetually lost in the mail so we never know what is coming or when.

The EMT’s head into the duplex across and up the street and my attention is, for the moment, rapt. What did that loud little fucker do? Earlier I was outside retrieving the last of the groceries from the car while he skated around shouting unintelligible teenager-ese, obviously in an effort to impress some hot phantom neighbor girl that doesn’t exist. Standing there holding the grocery bags I shot him a look that said I would like nothing better than to knock all of his teeth out and then use them as hybrid voodoo bones that would reveal to me the most painful way to break his hands and feet. He saw the look and scooted back inside, but as it is with most teenagers having little to do and even less brains, the fear was likely short lived. So begins my first theory. The kid decided to vandalize something on the pole in an effort to get back at all of the adults in the world who despise his kind, me in particular.

The EMT’s came out of the house empty-handed and all I could see were visions of my tax dollars being lit on fire and then shat on. I can see that damn kid peeking out the window and I want to go take the eventual and unseen cost of this out of his ass right now. No installment plan, no points, balance due upon receipt. I finally resign by giving the finger to events I cannot control and trudge up to bed. Emergency lights flashing through my bedroom windows keep me awake while Stephen King tries yet again to impart lessons on writing, and I drift off coming up with different ass-kicking scenarios should I wake up and find that I’m still not connected. Wired. Plugged in. Switched on. It’s a big world and I need access to it without actually going out in it.

I need to get that connection back.