Folks, the new Magic Jack works without a computer, but it does not work without an Internet connection. That their ads don’t make this clear and that does not make it cheaper to hire me. And now, because it was one long day, I choose to stay right here at home in the peace and quiet.
I stepped Lance through the paces, reminding him he is not learning. Instead, he is paying time and again for the same services he could easily do on his own. He seems okay paying, but it is not the way to go. I had to delete dozens of spurious toolbars and resident programs and reset his defaults. This is like what, the sixth time in five years. What can I say? The somewhat fantastic audience response to “That’s What I Like About You” warranted special scrutiny. Have I found my next super-tune or did I just connect at the right time and place? Be careful, since the regular Karaoke is repetitious, the crowd may just be applauding the novelty. But other indicators, like it is a chick song, and the guy who made the snarky comment a few weeks back was there again—though he didn’t say a word this time. No matter what, I cannot possibly play the guitar part.
I can report yet another favorable return from the hospital. All my original symptoms are under control. (New ones are surfacing as the old ones retreat.) Mine was a lifetime of hard work or stress, the both are equally dangerous to one’s health; it was the stress did me in. Nonetheless the deterioration is completely stopped and in some areas I’ve shown improvement. So there. Look out, Methuselah.
Here’s where I get to plug Memorial again. My experience with hospitals goes back not that far, but Memorial is the best and that is that. I’ve lucked onto a team that got me back from the brink. Sorry, blog rules say no personal recommendations (doctor's names), but I don’t think you could go wrong with Memorial.
The new Barnes & Noble ceases to be a place to go exploring. It’s been months since I found something new, something not already read in some form. I splurged for the coffee and biscotti but could not find a book to buy that was worth the price tag. Around a third of the floorspace at Aventura is escape literature. There was not one single babe in the place, another reason I don’t like south Florida. I’m caught here because I don’t have the cash to move yet, not because I’m stuck here forever.
My present to myself for this record month is likely to be a real soldering iron. Wow, but appreciate that I’m thinking ahead here. The dance lessons are still on hold because nobody answers the phone when I call to check if the class has been cancelled. The dance classes are my reward for a good year. That’s right folks, I’ve been here a year now and things have changed out of all recognition. Getting back on my feet is more than a figure of speech. I want luxury, like maybe tomorrow I’m going to buy some memory foam pillows at $60 each. I’m worth it.
It’s been eight years without memory foam, and I read in bed. I’ve got the ex-girlfriends to prove it. I cannot fall asleep without a book to read, it isn’t everything, but ranks in my top ten. Favorite subjects are geology, astronomy, and mystery novels. Followed by military history, electronics, and general sciences. The only really new subject in thirty years is the electronics.
When I was growing up, bringing a book home from school to study was not a wise idea. It could “accidentally” get thrown in the stove to burn, and reading made you a vulnerable target for everything from spitballs to jackknives. That’s correct, my brothers once started throwing a knife at me while I was reading “to see who could get the closest”. During my teens, for privacy, I literally dug out a root cellar beneath the house and built an underground room.
It was freezing down there all winter, so I could not read. It was too cold to hold a book. Reading became such a luxury I could not really afford to do it until I was in college. College is forced reading, not the most enjoyable kind. But it is wrong to think I had unlimited time to read as a lad. It was also a dumb idea to have any form of schedule, like a fixed reading time, around that madhouse. It only let the jarheads know where you were. (“If you got time to read a goddam book you got time to fill the woodbox.”)
But I will point out I had my first real girlfriend in that root cellar. That was about two years before anybody suspected a thing. To this day, I still chuckle when I hear first world teen problems. What? No xBox? No Nikes? No skateboard? Where did you turn 18? I turned 18 in a bus depot in Montana.
