Intermission 2: How do I suck, let me count the ways.
No theories of life this week. As we all know, theories of life are for people who can function reasonably well in society.
First off, let me just say that it takes a strange combination of vision, incompetence and external stimulants for a former IT specialist to go 6 weeks, despite all reasonable efforts, without Internet access in a big city like Toronto.
I have some pretty cool stuff coming in the book of Mark: I am going to harshly but constructively criticize people that think everything happens for a reason; I am going to help you visualize your loved ones dying; I am going to both attack and support a deterministic vision of existence; and, I am going to try and explore racism with some brutally honest statements about how our cowardly minds (mine included) really work.
Is it just me or do I use colons and semi-colons more than most people? There’s a Crohns Disease joke in there somewhere.
Sadly, I am not going to do any of this until next week at the earliest. It’s pathetic to even talk about it, and I am about to prove how pathetic it is: I was watching a rerun of Beverly Hills 90210 today, which I haven’t actually done in over a month for the record, and Andrea tells Dylan that the best advice you can give a writer is to not talk about writing but just do it. Great advice for a teenager, though as I vaguely recall the actress was 37 at the time and the actor portraying Dylan was 30. In other words, even though I am watching a teenager’s show, I am at least relating to actors in my own age group (as they then were).
In spite of Andrea/Gabrielle’s wise counsel, I promise I will get going again as soon as I have the Internet. Life is hard without knowing what craziness he is up to, or how she will react to Lucas winning Rock Star, or even how the world will react without its greatest podcast. I need food for my hungry brain in order to provide you with the mediocre level of writing that all 17 of you have become accustomed to.
The really sad thing is that, in every different situation that I have had problems getting Internet access, I have had friends in moderately high places willing to help me out. At the time that I was being screwed over by the first telco giant, whom I finally fired after months of poor service including two weeks of down time, I actually knew a senior executive who I have been friends with since high school. Impressive? Apparently not, and he has since quit that company since anyway. After a week of working with another friend who is a Professor of Computer Science, I came to accept that I couldn’t just access the Internet for free with a wireless card. (Note: I am stretching by including him on that one.) That was three weeks wasted and I began to develop my little inferiority complex. Now another friend who mocked my last post in the comment section, and who holds an impressive title at my new telco giant letdown, is on the case and is trying to figure out why my technical issue has been escalated three times without any feedback. He still doesn’t know. My complex has mushroomed to the point that I can’t buy toilet paper without asking the stranger in the grocery store for her advice, when the facts suggest I ought to be an expert.
In short, I have learned two things:
1) My friends aren’t as useful as they claim they are.
2) I probably couldn’t survive without them.
When I do get the Internet, I promise to come back with incredible enthusiasm, which renewed access to pornography can only do so much to alleviate.
First off, let me just say that it takes a strange combination of vision, incompetence and external stimulants for a former IT specialist to go 6 weeks, despite all reasonable efforts, without Internet access in a big city like Toronto.
I have some pretty cool stuff coming in the book of Mark: I am going to harshly but constructively criticize people that think everything happens for a reason; I am going to help you visualize your loved ones dying; I am going to both attack and support a deterministic vision of existence; and, I am going to try and explore racism with some brutally honest statements about how our cowardly minds (mine included) really work.
Is it just me or do I use colons and semi-colons more than most people? There’s a Crohns Disease joke in there somewhere.
Sadly, I am not going to do any of this until next week at the earliest. It’s pathetic to even talk about it, and I am about to prove how pathetic it is: I was watching a rerun of Beverly Hills 90210 today, which I haven’t actually done in over a month for the record, and Andrea tells Dylan that the best advice you can give a writer is to not talk about writing but just do it. Great advice for a teenager, though as I vaguely recall the actress was 37 at the time and the actor portraying Dylan was 30. In other words, even though I am watching a teenager’s show, I am at least relating to actors in my own age group (as they then were).
In spite of Andrea/Gabrielle’s wise counsel, I promise I will get going again as soon as I have the Internet. Life is hard without knowing what craziness he is up to, or how she will react to Lucas winning Rock Star, or even how the world will react without its greatest podcast. I need food for my hungry brain in order to provide you with the mediocre level of writing that all 17 of you have become accustomed to.
The really sad thing is that, in every different situation that I have had problems getting Internet access, I have had friends in moderately high places willing to help me out. At the time that I was being screwed over by the first telco giant, whom I finally fired after months of poor service including two weeks of down time, I actually knew a senior executive who I have been friends with since high school. Impressive? Apparently not, and he has since quit that company since anyway. After a week of working with another friend who is a Professor of Computer Science, I came to accept that I couldn’t just access the Internet for free with a wireless card. (Note: I am stretching by including him on that one.) That was three weeks wasted and I began to develop my little inferiority complex. Now another friend who mocked my last post in the comment section, and who holds an impressive title at my new telco giant letdown, is on the case and is trying to figure out why my technical issue has been escalated three times without any feedback. He still doesn’t know. My complex has mushroomed to the point that I can’t buy toilet paper without asking the stranger in the grocery store for her advice, when the facts suggest I ought to be an expert.
In short, I have learned two things:
1) My friends aren’t as useful as they claim they are.
2) I probably couldn’t survive without them.
When I do get the Internet, I promise to come back with incredible enthusiasm, which renewed access to pornography can only do so much to alleviate.
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2 Comments:
I hope you are not paying for your Internet and they better give you three or four months of free service, they owe you!!
The new provider sounds worse then the old one. I would almost go crawling back to the old Internet Service Provider.
Semi-colons are my favourite punctuation marks.
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