I cannot tell you how angry I am at this very moment. I’m writing this after the second hard boot, cold boot, or fuck boot. I don’t know the term and right now, I don’t care. I don’t know why my PC is acting up this way and I’m fighting the urge to pick it all up and send it tumbling through the backyard.
I was writing a funny, FUNNY piece and the damn thing froze up. It wouldn’t respond to anything so I had to turn it off without shutting it down. Before I did that, I wrote down the last paragraphs that I could see on the page. That was a good thing because I only had to retype them. The program was saved before the lockup could erase it all. Everything was fine and my blood pressure didn’t even flinch.
I was cocky and decided that it wouldn’t freeze up again and I wouldn't have to do it all over again. My PC has never crashed twice in one sitting. I flirted with danger.
Danger bit me in the ass!
Now… Let me try to recreate the magic...
An interesting conversation broke out in the Left Field Tavern last night. A nurse sitting at the bar couldn’t understand why a retirement community would make houses with separate bedrooms for married couples. It was as if the idea was completely out of her mental capabilities.
It got a little heated and I was worried that the bar’s owner was either going to pull a shotgun or call Brother Bacon to settle us down. But fortunately, things stayed within the confines of self-control.
Mary Giddings, Donny the bar’s owner, the nurse’s boyfriend, and myself ganged up on this woman with thousands of reasons why people married 50 or more years would want to sleep apart.
Although she never conceded the argument, we were hi-fivin’ each other and parading around the bar in a celebratory conga line. We were on top of the world and we couldn’t be stopped. If the Harvard or Yale Debate Teams happened to pop into the bar for drinks last night, we would have kicked their collective butts with shear intellect. We could have talked the clouds into letting go of the much-needed rain. We could have gotten David Letterman and Jay Leno to passionately make-out on television. We could have convinced Pat Boone that white loafers no longer exist.
For that brief moment in time, we were giants traipsing through Tokyo. We were knocking down the power lines of ignorance. We were crushing the small automobiles of doubt with our mighty feet. We were ready for Rodan or Mothra! And we would have kicked Gamera’s ass just for kicks.
And that’s about where my PC crapped out on me again…
And you know, I’m now emotionally depleted to continue on about ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ DVD that I received and watched from Netflix today. I’ll tell you more about it on Saturday. Right now, I’m gonna watch some Dr. Phil.