Things I failed to do today
I failed to make a complete and total fool of myself on the internet, which isn’t as easy as it sounds
I failed to complete filling in the last 300 genre fields of my iTunes collection, because chances are if I hear Glen Miller tomorrow I won’t run over to the computer to see if that was from the big band era or Lindsay Buckingham going though a “brassy phase”
I failed to buy the new Lindsay Buckingham album, because I sampled every track on iTunes and they all seem the same: breathy tremulous whispery singing over fluttery finger-picking. Why is the new Lindsay Buckingham album like a fishing supply store the day after the going-out-of-business sale? NO HOOKS
In the parking lot of Southdale, I failed to feel a great deal of pity for the fellow who was dressed all in black with black hair and a black mood dragging a black bag shouting F*CK! F*CK! F*CK! F*CK! F*CK! Into his cell phone – which was probably black, he was a ways off – because I suspected the problems were social in nature, and likely to pass
I failed to acknowledge the Concerned Youths outside the grocery store who asked, as they always do, if I had a minute to help the environment. This meant I should sign their petition to help the environment. Gnat informed me that I was rude, and should have said something; she was correct, and I praised her good manners. Kids love to catch you doing something you tell them to do, and I try to model good behavior. On the other hand, I’m just so sick of those guys. NO, I don’t have a minute. But I do have 30 seconds to suggest that this isn’t going to look as important on your resume as you might think. Oh, hold your tongue, you crank. I succeeded at that, at least.
I failed to let a Target electronics clerk feel superior. I was buying a new SD chip for my camera. I popped it out to make sure it wasn’t some peculiar thing only Casio could swallow, when the clerk said “that’s an SD chip,”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for another.”
He looked at the chip. “That came with the camera.”
“Actually, no,” I said.
“Those are the ones that come with the camera. It’s 16 megabytes. You can only get 5 pictures on those.”
“I know. It’s from an old camera. I just stuck it in to take a few shots. I need a high-speed chip, 2 gig.”
He gave me this odd dull Napoleon Dynamite look: I’m sorry, that came with the camera. But he showed me the rack where the chips were stored. The 2 GB were $50.
“Hmm,” I said. “I was pricing these on amazon last night, and they’re about $25.”
“Yes well they don’t have to pay the marketing, the costs of marketing, so they can be lower.”
“Also they’re probably cheap unreliable goods from some arsenic-saturated Chinese factory,” I said.
He didn’t know what to say. Then he said: “These are 60X.”
“Sixty times what?”
“Sixty times faster.”
“Yes, but faster than what? What are they compared to?”
Behind his glasses I could tell me wanted me to be eaten by a Liger.
“They’re good for video,” he said.
“Thanks!” I said. “I’ll take one.”
He looked stunned again: man, this is going all over the road.
I failed to keep myself from going to Best Buy to see if I could find something cheaper. I did. $24. SanDisk. Well, taking things back to Target is easy as pie. Eating pie, that is. Making it is a pain in the arse.
I failed to nap. The moment I laid down a storm harrumphed into the neighborhood, with great ripe peals of thunder and loud fat drops of rain. Gnat was downstairs watching TV, and I thought: how nice that she’s able to take a storm without being scared. Sad, in a way; I miss my little girl. But they do grow up. Five minutes later she crept upstairs, scared, and crawled in bed to hear me reassure her the trees wouldn’t fall and we wouldn’t have a flood. It was my favorite moment of the day. And there had been many.
I’m still working around her schedule, which means I take her to morning class, run home, write, post, write, post, pick her up, slam together lunch, post, take her to the afternoon event, go home or the office or wherever I’m headed to shoot video, then home, write, post, write, post. It’ll be interesting to see what traffic’s like next week while I’m on hiatus.
Well, duh; it’ll be down. Less posts will do that. We’ll still have morning notes, though.
I failed at salmon. The package said the salmon, frozen, should be cooked for 11 minutes at 320 degrees, and flipped after five. It seemed insufficient. Sure enough: after 11 minutes, it was so raw (HOW RAW WAS IT) that it was clearly inedible. (Sorry, I don’t have my Carson module installed tonight,) I gave it another ten. Raw. Supper, then, was a salad and some onion rings. Figured I’d catch a drive-through hamburger while on evening errands, and I did. Delish.
I failed to get an extender for the iPhone headphone jack, because the Apple store was out. I also failed to see the rationale for the recessed jack plug. As does the world.
I failed to undertip Little Miss Sullen, the hair stylist I keep getting at the chop-shop where I get shorn every third fortnight; usually she’s a miserable little scowling pill, but this time we didn’t talk at all, and things went well.
I failed to get beyond the 19th screen of the Avalance game on my iPhone, because it’s set up to make you fail quickly. Yet you cannot stop playing. Hold on – let me play a game.
I failed again.
But tomorrow is another day! I also failed to do the motel section – some strange ancient psychological aversion is keeping me from that duty – but at least I didn’t forget Bleat Radio Theater. This is an odd one from the 50s, from CBS Radio Workshop. It’s a “humorous” Cold War “parable” set on a planet populated by vegetables. Worth it for several reasons: the Russian onions are pretty funny (“Death to carrots.”) You’ll recognize many of these voices from your childhood cartoons. The music has that hallmark of 1950s sci-fi: off-kilter weirdo harmonica. The theme also sounds a lot like a crazy, man, version of “Charade.” You’ll have to wait for the end to see who composed it. Enjoy! We present: a Pride of Carrots.
Off to buzz.mn - see you there!