Monday, July 30, 2012

Is this normal? (Or should I say, nhormal?)


Received, Monday, July 30, 2012 11:08 AM


Betsy,
How did everything go at Apple?
Hope all whent well.
I am here if you need any help.
All the best,

"Dave"



Thursday, July 26, 2012

Follow Up on the Apple Man

I'm tempted to play this out, just to see what would happen next, but I have enough going on with the dishwasher man and the unemployment office already.  I think you guys give good advice, so I took it.  Here's how it went down:

On Thursday, July 26, 2012, at 8:20 PM, Betsy  wrote:


Thanks,
It sounds a little complicated.  I think I’ll just go to the genius bar.
Betsy

On Thursday, July 26, 2012, at 8:37 PM, "Dave" wrote:

Betsy. 
Ok. They will do the same as I.

[Except the part about meeting at a coffee shop in a city that neither of us lives in, going away, ordering parts, and then at some point in the future, you coming to my house.  Other than that, exactly the same as the Apple store.] 


Look at your machine ascertain the problem and give you a price to fix it. I am here to help you in whatever you decide. A the very best. David


Sent from me

Karma and the Apple Man


I seem to have weird energy swirling around me that makes everything more complicated than it should be.   Just a quick visit back to the dishwasher, before we move on to the next problem, the computer.  After about a zillion calls, and what R. refers to as, “the homey hookup”, I found someone who will come look at the dishwasher in three weeks, and after his initial visit, he’ll see if he can schedule a repair.  I get the sense that this isn’t how it goes down for other people.   I envision that other people call someone, and it gets resolved.  Pretty quickly. 

When I hear others complain about repair people, their complaint is, “wow, that cost an arm and a leg and it only took them 20 minutes.”  I long to have that complaint.  My complaint is that it’s so hard to have a transaction where I state my problem, someone agrees to fix it, they do, I pay them, and we all move on with our reasonably happy lives.

My MacBook, which has been a great computer in so many ways, has a condition that M. says is a pinched nerve.  I’m pretty sure that’s not an actual thing, but you get the idea.  When I open the laptop to the 90 degree position, the screen goes dark. I have to keep it folded at an acute angle for the screen to light up, which, is giving me slumpy posture and a neck ache.  I have to crouch in order to view the screen.

I search the internet, and learn that it’s probably an inverter cable.  iFixit lists the repair as “difficult.”  I’ve learned my lesson with the faucet, and decide not to tackle this on my own.  I locate someone on Craigslist who offers Apple repair services, and he looks legit.  But there’s something about his post that also conjures up internet dating.  Maybe it’s his picture, which, I dunno, is it normal to include a picture of yourself looking off into the distance, surrounded by water and boats, on an ad for computer repair?  I thought I was on OK Cupid for a second.  

Here’s our correspondence so far, verbatim.  [My editorial comments are bracketed like this.] 

On Wednesday, July 25, 2012 7:49 AM, Betsy wrote:

Hi,

I have a MacBook that's about 3 years old.  It works fine, except that the screen goes dark when it's opened beyond about 90 degrees.  I've looked around on the internet and it sounds like it could be an inverter cable.  Is that something you could diagnose and repair?
Thanks,
Betsy



On Wednesday, July 25, 2012 8:01 AM, "Dave" wrote:  [Nice! Reply within 15 minutes!]

Betsy,

Thank you for your mail.
Yes, I would be happy to help you with your Macbook. [Yay!]
It is a very common problem. [I have a common problem! Like!]
Let me know what time works well for you.
All the best,
"Dave"

On Wednesday, July 25, 2012 8:16 AM, Betsy wrote:

Hi,
I’m east of Duvall, but could bring it to Kirkland and leave it with you.  How long would you need to have it?  My schedule is a little flexible.
Thanks!
Betsy


On Wednesday, 7/25/12 9:25 AM, "Dave" wrote:  

Betsy,
We can meet up in Carnation if you like.  [Why are we meeting in a city where neither of us live? Didn’t I offer to bring it to Kirkland? Okay, maybe there’s a good reason that he hasn’t named, like he’ll be there picking berries anyway.]
Thursday or Friday works for me.
Let me know.

On Wednesday, July 25, 2012 10:20 AM, Betsy wrote:

"Dave",

Is it something you’d fix on the spot, or do you need to take the computer?  If Carnation is convenient for you, I could meet you there on either of those mornings.  Otherwise, I can bring it to Kirkland.
Thanks,
Betsy



On 7/26/12 7:20 AM, "Dave"  wrote:  [wait, it took almost 24 hours for a reply?]

Betsy,
How about Friday at 10 am in carnation.
I believe there is a Starbucks by the Qfc.  [Does this seem more like an internet date than computer repair to anyone else? Do you guys meet your computer repair people in a coffee shop at a neutral location where neither of you live?  Does that explain the "I don't want to look too eager so I'll wait a day to reply" behavior?]

Dave


On Thursday, Jul 26, 2012, at 7:51 AM, Betsy wrote:


Hi,
Thanks for getting back to me.
I’m still confused, though — will you be able to fix it at Starbucks?  (As I’m sure you can imagine, I’m a little reluctant to hand off my computer to a random stranger in a Starbucks.) Thanks,
Betsy


On Thursday, July 26, 2012 9:52 AM, "Dave" wrote:


Betsy. [So we're at that point now, are we, Dave?  The point where you put a period after my name?  Is that the equivalent of a deep, exasperated sigh?  Are we breaking up, Dave?]  I understand I need to at the least look at it to determine the problem    Then I can order the part. And come to your place an fix it for you  [Wait, you're coming to my house?]  It should be an easy fix   Let me know what you would to do.  [What I would to do, Dave, is just get the little inverter cable replaced without a lot of fussery and home visits.  Is that one of the options?]
David [So, we're at the "David" point now?  Is it something I said?]

Sent from me  [Sent from "me"?  What does that mean?  Shouldn’t this apple repair guy's things be sent from an iPhone?]

Dear readers, do you see what I mean?  Is this how it goes for you?  Should I send the, "wow, you seem like a really nice guy, but I think we're just not able to meet each other's needs" e-mail?  Please advise.













Sunday, July 22, 2012

Post-Apocalypse Skill Number 1: Gene Splicing


I just learned that if you drink four cups of coffee a day, you will minimize your chances of getting prostrate cancer.  I drink more coffee and cross that off the list of things to worry about.

What remains on my list is how to begin the Ladies Abridged Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse. What’s the heirarchy of post-apocalypse needs?  So should it be water, shelter, food, medical care, in that order?  What about delivering babies?  Or should it be water, fire, earth, wind?  Do we need to review the constellations?  Would bug identification be useful?

Let’s start with water.  

Raise your hand if you don’t know where to find a lake or a stream within walking distance of your house.  If you raised your hand, you should probably either move or look at a map.  Once you find water, you'll need to purify it.  One way would be to claim this free Ferric Chloride from Craig's List.  I'm a little chicken to do that myself, being that it's in the crawl space and all, but it would purify lots of water.

Now that we've got water solved, let's move on to gene splicing.  This something you’ll have more time for after the apocalypse.  I’ve never done it, but here’s the basic recipe, from Bunch of Amateurs:  A Search for the American Character.

  1. Grind up something that was once alive. In the book, they use dried peas, which I think you should probably put in your pantry, but save your dried peas for eating.  Just get a leaf or something.  You’ll have to use a rock to grind with, unless you already have a mortar and pestle.  Rocks are pretty easy to find, so I won't go into that here.
  2. Put the ground up stuff into salt water.  This is easily made by adding water to salt. Wait, you did find water already, true?  Should we revisit that step?  If you’re near the ocean, you could just use sea water to make it easy.
  3. Shake this mixture up.  Add a little dish detergent to break up the fatty parts in the cell wall.
  4. Add meat tenderizer.  (You should probably buy a bunch of this now, because post-apocalyptic meat is not particulary tender.  Or so I’m told.)  Meat tenderizers contain enzymes that specialize in breaking down peptide bonds, which is what you want.  You know you do.  As a side note, meat tenderizer can be used as an anti-inflammatory too. If you get hit by a falling object when it all goes down, slather some of this stuff on the wound.  If your meat tenderizer contains bromelain, you can also use it to cure cancer, parasites, digestion, and arthritis. There is really no downside to stocking up.
  5. Let sit for a while, maybe overnight.  
  6. Put this all in a salad spinner to get rid of the liquid.
  7. Add rubbing alcohol to the remaining substance. Strings will begin to form; this is the DNA.
  8. Now you can begin inserting this DNA into other life forms.   Be very careful.  This isn't in the book, and as I say, I haven't done this yet, but I'd suggest that you wear eye protection and a helmet.  Possibly knee pads too, if you have them.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Horoscopes: The Broken Apparatus Edition


Aries (3/21 – 4/19) I'm having that kind of week that starts out full of promise, and then each step I take sets me farther backward.  Like what starts with a drippy kitchen faucet becomes a morning spent watching Youtube videos on how do do stuff, and what shows up as an easy step is actually impossible, and the whole thing puts me in an irritable mood.  The videos are like, "Put socks on by first unrolling the pair, and slipping them over the feet, toe first, one at a time.  Pull sock around the heel, and slide up ankle, adjust for comfort.  Put shoes on.  For specific instructions for your shoe type, click here..." I watch this, and I'm full of confidence.  And then it moves to, "... walk outside, spread your arms wide, and fly to the nearest tree, and build your nest.  The end."  Is it just me, Aries?  Anyway, this week, just call someone.  Hire people, all the people you need.  Don't watch those videos.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The problem is, Taurus, that two percent of people think that Mitt's real name is "Mittens," which seems like it could work in his favor.  Who doesn't like mittens?  Why, I have a book of mitten knitting patterns that, and I'm not making this up, I used to read the introduction to and get sort of weepy.  Years later, I read it again and thought, huh?  What was that all about?  It was sweet, but not that sweet.  Maybe I just had something in my eye.  It was just about how you should make mittens for everyone you love, and memorize a pattern, make it your own, blah blah blah.  Taurus, I think if you're going to make stuff, let it be hats.  Not so many opposable digits to fuss with.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Okay, long story but I search the internet for plumbers, and there's a form to complete in order to get a free cost estimate.  Merely seconds after I submit the form, the phone starts ringing.  At first, I'm like, wow, how cool is this?  I don't have to call anyone, they'll call me.  But then they kept calling.  And calling.  All different plumbers, from all over the state.  One of the lesser annoying parts of the whole thing is that when I asked one company to stop calling me (they were calling every hour to see how my plumbing is), they said they'd need a manager's approval.  Wait, right?  They can't stop calling me?  Suddenly, I've become their job description?  Gemini, don't be anyone's job description this week.  Just be your lovely self.


Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  You know how the hip people are all, "hash tag, yolo" and so on?  And you can't decide for sure if you're irritated because it makes you feel just the tiniest bit inferior or if you're just plain irritated?  Yeah, I hate that.  This week, exhale, breathe into your heart center, and remember, yolo.  Don't waste it.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Did you ever have that thing where you wait around all day for the dishwasher repairman, and he calls first thing in the morning and says he'll be there in 20 minutes, and you offer directions and he scoffs, as in, "I don't need no stinkin' directions," and then two hours later he calls and says he's been driving around your neighborhood but can't find your house, and you're pretty sure that's not true because there's only one street in your neighborhood, so what would be involved in all the driving around?  And then when he finally arrives, he just has a regular pickup truck, not an appliance repair van, and he has no idea how to fix the dishwasher, and then he dodges your calls all week?  Yeah, I know.  Leo, I've got no horoscope for you.  None whatsoever.  

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I was recently feeling like a slum lord, because what started out as, "sure, here's your room, here's the kitchen with the dishwasher and sink" has turned into, "well, you've got your room..."  Anyway, R. thought it was a little grandiose and religious for me to refer to myself as "lord", so he's taken to calling me Slum Prophet.  Virgo, I think prophet is also a little grandiose.  Does Slum Lady work?

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  You know those ads next to the feed on Facebook that are supposedly tailored to you?  Yeah, so mine seem to be mostly about belly fat and get-rich-quick scams, but recently, there's been a spate of diagnoses.  A few days ago, it was gout.  "Have gout?  We can help."  I was ranting about that, like, "really, Facebook?  On top over everything else, you think I have gout?"  and someone asked what gout was, so I looked it up and it's painful swelling of the joints, and right about then I was noticing that my finger is really sore and swollen, which, by the way, how would FB know about that?  Did that picture make my finger look big?  So I guess twe should start posting our symptoms and see what happens.  We'll call this Zuckercare, Libra, and it's free so long as you have a computer and a connection.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  For years, R. and I have been reading the advice column from the NYT, Social Q's, aloud, and discussing the answer.  We've added a new element to the game, which is to predict, prior to reading the letter, whether we'll think we're better than, equal to, or worse than the writer.  I'm not proud of it, Scorpio, but we usually think we're better than the letter-writer.  People who write to advice columnists have first world problems, like, "should I hang the flag out in front of my house that means people can come swim in my pool?  I would, but no one has given me a gift lately, so I'm thinking I won't," and it's hard not to feel a little like you're better than that.  Scorpio, this week, hang your flag out.  Let the people come.


Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Do you ever have that thing where you wait around all day on a different day for the faucet repairman (this is a completely different horoscope than Leo, btw), and the person never shows, and you were sort of afraid of that because when they called you (see Gemini), they were pretty insistent on getting a cross street.

"So, this isn't really a cross street sort of neighborhood.  There's only one road."

"I'm really going to need a cross street."

"Yeah, I heard you.  But there is no cross street."

"Well, I really need a cross street to get this started."

We went around for a while, eventually getting to, "If there were a cross street, what would it be?" And me naming a street, and waiting and waiting, and eventually calling back to learn that the plumber has actually never heard of me, and so on.

Saggitarius, I don't know what to tell you.  I'm tempted to suggest that you stay away from the cross streets, far, far away, but look where it got me?  Maybe you should stand near a corner and see how that works out.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  That, dear Capricorns, is Sheldon Adelson, one of the richest men in the US, with a net worth around $25 billion.  I'm pretty sure he's not getting stood up by the dishwasher guy or the plumber.  In fact, while I'm trying to buy some decent blue collar service, he's buying an election!  Capricorn, do like Sheldon, and aim a little higher than having a sink that doesn't leak.  See if you can get a government that's all about you.  If it works out, though, remember me and my dishwasher down here with the common people, and send someone out, wouldja?.


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  This (Fun Home, by Allison Bechdel) is the darkest, funniest comic-book memoir you'll read this summer.  Enjoy it.  It will only take a few hours.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Wow, thanks for sticking with this sorry little horoscope all the way to the end.  Last night, I chronicled the details of all the chores and my efforts to solve them to a little boy as a bedtime story, and we hadn't even gotten to the dishwasher when he was sound asleep.  I feel a little bad about it, but in my defense, he begged me to tell him more chore stories this morning.  I was afraid he'd fall asleep again, so I didn't, but I could.  Any time, Pisces.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Where's the beef?

After the main meat of the Slate podcasts that I listen to, they conclude with a section called "recommendations", or "cocktail chatter", during which they share something that they've been doing, thinking about, eating, etc.  I don't seem able to come up with any meat (still haven't snared a rabbit), so I thought I'd just skip to the recommendations.  Here goes:


1.  Sleeping in.  This is a new discovery for me.  Instead of getting up every day at 4:30, I now sometimes snooze until 6 or 7, and then lay around and read for while.  I'd highly recommend this practice.  Nap consumption is going way down.


2.  This blog, because it's smart and funny and sweet and a lot about food.  I think you will love it.  (Thanks D., for the tip!)


3.  Being FB friends with "Israel Loves Iran."  People from potentially warring countries post messages of peace to one another.  There's really no downside to clicking like, and I will confess (*second confession of the day, but that's another story) that I sometimes get a little weepy when I see the posts.


4.  Cold swiss oatmeal.  You can find a recipe here, that looks really good, but I don't have all of those ingredients.  I don't even know what a sultana is, in fact.  So I mix about a quart of non-fat yogurt with about one or two cups of oats, and maybe some almond milk, other stuff that I do have around, like nuts and fruit and maybe some molasses or honey or vanilla.  It sits in the refrigerator overnight, or in my case, for a week, and absorbs all the liquid and comes out creamy and delicious.  It gets a little gluey towards the end of the week, but I'm okay with that.


5.  This article by Tim Kreider, which includes a line that I've been thinking about a lot:  "More and more people in this country no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary."  I've taken to imagining myself as a cat dressed in suit each day as I go about my activities, to see if what I'm doing is really worth the effort of wiggling all four legs into all four sleeves, and then tying the Windsor knot around my neck.  


6.  Speaking of boa constrictors, there was a pretty horrible post in the free section of Craig's List the other day -- someone was giving away an enormous albino boa constrictor that they had found in their apartment a week before.  Sheesh, I am no wuss, but I think I would have to move.  But that's not the recommendation.  The recommendation is actually for the free section of Craig's List, which, I know, you all know this, but there are some pretty compelling posts there that make you curious and glad to be alive.  Like "free umbrella".  And there's a picture of a faded, somewhat bent umbrella lying on the sidewalk.  It harkens the whole "beans at the fair" kind of lump in the throat.


7.  So many podcasts to recommend, but today I'll stick with The Paper Machete, which, as they say, is a salon in a saloon.  It's short, and varied, and I even love the little introduction.  I could just listen to that over and over.  (Oh, wait, did I actually say that?  Yeah, that was a typo.  I would totally never just listen to that intro over and over.  That would be strange.  And completely not worth wrestling the four legs into the suit.)  


8.  The Hardly Boys.  There may only be about two people in the world who think this is as funny as I do, but I cannot stop laughing.  Watch the whole movie, not just the clip.  I don't know where you'd find it, though.  I got it when I met ACJ at a hotel near the airport, she brought it for me, and we are probably the only people in the world who laugh out loud for a week over the dogs fly fishing, saying, "ten o'clock, two o'clock," over and over.  


9.  Jack Hitt's new book, Bunch of Amateurs:  A Search for the American Character.  It's kind of about Ben Franklin, a little bit about the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker, and a tiny bit about do-it-yourself gene splicing.  


10.  Swimming in a lake every day.  


That's all I've got.  





Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Apocalypse Planning


I’ve been dodging my neighbor’s phone calls for a bit. We traded messages a few times, but I hate the phone, so I’m slow with my end of the volley.  And to be honest, it’s not just the phone, but annoyance about how she plays her half, like, I pull up after a day of chores and running around, come in for a long-imagined nap, and the phone immediately rings. I don’t answer it, which is sort of how it goes here.  Sometimes I stand there and watch it ring, and sometimes I just walk away. It’s not really call screening, as in screening out people I don’t want to talk to, but rather, there are only a few rare times when it all comes together that I answer.  

So anyway, we have a pretty distant relationship, the kind where she calls me every few years with a complaint or a nosy question. Once, she came over with a pile of evidence about this tree I had planted, and the harm it was causing her. It was weird and ironic, because I’d planted the tree from a branch that flew into the yard as soon as we moved in.  I was excited about being a landowner for the first time in my life, where I could plant things without asking anyone, and be around long enough to watch them grow.  So I planted a small cottonwood twig near the property line --her side was undeveloped at the time.  

Skip ahead 10 years, and my soon to be ex-husband is moving out, and we’re having breakfast and packing, and it’s all sad and weird and full of heaviness.  The neighbor calls right then, insisting that she come over because there’s a mater she wants to discuss.  She has evidence of a problem, which is a little CSI for my taste.   The evidence involves a ziplock bag with large leaf in it, and the leaf has a tiny hole in it, and it looks as though the hole was created by a bug.  Gasp.  A second Ziploc bag contained a Polaroid photograph showing sprouts of the same tree, emerging on her side of the property line.  Due to these complaints, she asked to have the tree removed, and because I was so distracted and weakened by everything else, I agreed.  

If this were a novel, this would seem like a super-contrived metaphor:  on the day we moved in with so much hope, we planted this tree, and on the day that that particular dream ended, the tree came down.  

Anyway, I’m never eager to call back, because it’s always about something I’ve done that’s not as suburban as she’d like.  So far, it’s never been, “Hey, I’m having a bbq and wondered if you’d like to stop by,” or, “cool how your front lawn looks like a meadow!”

They call it phone tag, but my end of the game is slow.  If this were a card game, I’d be that annoying person who takes forever with their turn.

I hear the phone ring, don’t answer it, and later, retrieve the message, “I see that your car is home so please call me right away.” And I take a nap.

Anyway, one interesting outcome of the long phone volley is that each member of this household came forward to confess to what they might be doing that would warrant the phone call.  I’ve been wondering if I let the grass get too long, or if my compost pile is unsightly, or any number of things. 

“So, have you talked to the neighbor yet?” one household member asks.

“Nope.”

“Well, there’s one thing that maybe it could be.  I sometimes pee in the lawn when I come back from a run.”

And so on, with each of us revealing our non-suburban behaviors to one another, before I finally returned one of her, “I see you’re home, please call,” messages and actually reached her.  I learned that a branch from one of my trees is creeping ever so steadily towards her deck, and hangs over her beautiful rose garden like a death sentence.

I climbed the tree with my little battery-operated skill saw, and lassoed the branch with a rope while one of the household members stood on the ground holding the other end of the rope.  But right before I began to saw, I chickened out, because there’s stuff about physics that I don’t understand, likes Higgs Boson. Strange particles could possibly be inside this limb, creating havoc when they’re released.  In addition to all the normal physical properties that I don’t have full command of.  For example, when you cut a 20 foot long branch at it’s base, and your rope is only about 2 feet above where you’re going to make the cut, and most of the weight is far, far away, it seems possible that you’d actually kill the rose garden you're trying to protect.  Remember those hospital problems in beginning physics, where that poor guy was always in traction?

But the point of all of this is that while I was up in the tree, feeling powerful and Hunger Games-ish, it occurred to me that I could make a snare of some kind, and catch food.  Either when I run out of money, or during the apocalypse, whichever comes first.  It also occurred to me that I have no idea how to make a snare.  After watching many youtube videos, I’ve learned that you don’t really need to climb a tree to catch a rabbit.  The actual final point here is that, if the apocalypse ever does arrive, we can’t rely on youtube videos -- we’ll need flash cards.  The Author suggested I create the flash cards, and title them, “The Ladies Abridged Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse,” and sell them to ward off financial ruin.  I’ll put in on the list.  Pre-order right here, right now, while the internet still works!  

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...