“It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things.”
Cell phones invaded everyone’s life. Eventually that included me. It’s a major personal failure as far as I’m concerned. Eventually my old dumb phone it was replaced by a “smart” phone (i.e. a revolting abomination of bloated software and marketing hype). Where I formerly had ten buttons and an antenna now I have a GPS tracker in my pocket that reports to the NSA. This is progress?
Like every smart phone everywhere, mine glitched. Why? Because it’s a shitty phone that’s why! It’s also a shitty GPS and a shitty web surfer and a shitty camera and so on. Apparently there are people who use them to watch TV. As far as I’m concerned anyone who’ll watch video on a 2″ screen needs to be hit upside the head with a damn book.
Alas there’s no fighting it. We as a society traded good phones for a blob of shitty compromises that are the front end for a monthly payment and I’m going along for the ride. Here’s how it went down:
Me: [Texting to Mrs. Curmudgeon] “I’m going to be home late. It has been a long day. I had to slay a dragon, the truck got death wobble, Ross Perot sexually propositioned me, and I think the squirrels have unionised. Don’t hold dinner.” [Send]
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Me: [Send]
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Me: [Send][Send][Send][Send][Send]
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Me: [Screaming at the phone.] “Did I ask for Google to search? No I did not! Enough with the proctology! Sent the damn message!”
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Other guy at gas pumps: “Let me guess; Verizon?”
Me: “Tracfone.”
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Other guy at gas pumps: “They all suck.”
Me: “Screw this. I’ll just use a pay phone.”
Other guy at gas pumps: “Ha ha ha… and which way will you drive to get to 1980?”
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
After a hearty wave to the other guy at the pumps I drove off. My phone alerted me once every 30 seconds that Google was screwing the pooch. Finally I pulled over, ripped off the back cover, yanked the battery, and threw it all on the dash. I was at peace.
The next day I was sipping coffee when an e-mail arrived.
Client: “Where the heck are you?”
Me: “Here.”
Client: “Why haven’t you answered the phone?”
I glanced at the phone. It was bolted to the wall. Yes, I have a landline that’s literally wall mounted. (I find the kids are a lot better at replacing the handset when it’s on a cord.) I looked at the phone. Then I looked at the dog. The dog looked at me. We were both confused.
Me: “Because it didn’t ring?”
Client: “Why aren’t you answering now?”
Sighing, I picked up my phone and called him. Eventually we got to the root of the matter. He has the unfortunate situation of working with a fellow who will Skype, e-mail, chat, talk on a landline, use semaphore, key the mic on a HAM, and probably would be happy with carrier pigeons but will break a cell phone into pieces when it pisses him off. I have the situation of working with someone who is literally grossed out by a landline. Ironically he doesn’t actually know which numbers go to landlines and which go to cell phones but he really really really hates the idea of landlines. I suppose I can live with that. I feel the same way about yoga.
So I was forced to reassemble the cell phone.
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Sigh…
Soon I was on hold with Tracfone tech support. I understand their business model. Virtually no support and dirt cheap. But I do expect a pulse and an actual human being once or twice a decade. After a few rounds I was getting frustrated:
Support Drone: “OK turn the phone off.”
Me: “It was off all night, with the battery removed, under the full moon.”
Support Drone: “So turning the phone off didn’t help. Can you turn it off and remove the battery.”
Me: “It is off. I have removed the battery. I am holding the battery in my left hand and the phone in my right. I think the squirrels are spying on me.”
Support Drone: “Put the battery in and restart. What does the phone say.”
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
Me: “It says ‘Unfortunately Google search has stopped working’. My cat’s breath smells like catfood.”
Support Drone: “Then the problem is with Google. You’ll have to call Google.”
Me: [Suddenly serious] “You want me to call Google? You think Google is down? Like everywhere? You mean what you just said?”
Support Drone: “Yes you’ll have to call Google.”
Me: “You’re saying you lack the capacity to fix this problem?”
Support Drone: “We’ve been getting lots of reports. It’s Google.”
Me: “You cannot fix this problem?”
Support Drone: “It’s Google. I’m sure they’re working on it. Just wait a few hours.”
Me: “Go ahead and say it. Say ‘I can’t fix this problem’.”
If you can’t fix the phone say ‘I can’t fix the phone’. Say it! Say it!
Support Drone: “It’s Google. It’ll be working by the end of the day for sure.”
Me: “I will hang up and go away if you say ‘I can’t fix this problem’.”
Support Drone: “. . .”
Me: “Your silence speaks wonders. Please, just to make the world reality based say ‘I can’t fix this problem’.”
Support Drone: “It’s Google.”
I hung up.
I left the phone in pieces a few more days. Then, while at a coffee shop I reassembled it.
Phone: “Unfortunately Google search has stopped working.”
The internet didn’t help. I started clicking through menus. My phone is set to have damn near everything off. There must be something that I’d missed. Some place where NSA’s tendrils are crawling up my ass. Where was it?
I deleted some stuff. Then deleted more. The I uninstalled some shit. I found stuff I can’t remember installing and I can’t imagine I’d even need. (A magazine player? Really? Who the hell wants that?) Eventually I found Google search. One click and BAM… everything was fixed.
I was estatic! I starting shouting at the phone in my best Sam Kinison voice. “I fixed you! I fixed you! I’m the boss you’re a damn phone. I rule! Tracfone tech support is all whiny little bitches! They can’t fix shit! But I can! Say it! SAY IT!”
Then I realized I was in a coffee shop. Embarrassing.
Oh well. The phone works. For now.
A.C.
P.S. Here’s the whole speech… it’s a miracle of the big screen and yes I recited most of it in a coffee shop.
Other stupidity is less epic but highly photogenic and caught on camera. I present for your entertainment “man sets gas station on fire trying to kill a spider”.
Most recently my tagline has been a reminder by George Orwell:
“To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.”
It comes from a 1946 essay called “In Front Of Your Nose“. Orwell wasn’t an optimistic sort but that doesn’t make him wrong. Perhaps it has always been so or perhaps these things ebb and flow but recently his observations seem to hit the nail on the head. It’s wise to grokOrwell.
Right now we’re gearing up for a presidential election or, as I like to call it, the season of stupid. To help us as we wade through the BS I’ve updated my tagline:
“If someone succeeds in provoking you, realize that your mind is complicit in the provocation.”
That’s good counsel. Remember folks, freedom comes from the inside. It is not granted by either party. It cannot be gifted to you. You become free by acting and thinking as a free man. Many interests will try to distract you. Their game is to nudge you into creating the walls of your own cage. Don’t fall for it.
Last night’s lunar eclipse was incredible. All the conditions were right; clear sky, not too cold, bugs were mostly froze out, not much light pollution (a dark night sky is one of the nicest parts of living in the hinterlands), etc…
The Curmudgeon Household happily sat in lawn chairs enjoying the show. Nice way to say goodbye to summer as it winds down.
It’s a wonderful book. You’ll be glad you did. Sure it’s not Shakespeare but you weren’t doing anything important anyway and you’ve earned a break. Just kick back and read it.
A.C.
P.S. If you’re all hinky about reading children’s literature (you think your high falutin’ friends will make fun of you?) just pretend you’ll give to some kid for Christmas. If the kid thinks he’s too cool for the book, find a better kid. Also buy him a copy for Christmas anyway. Take away his X Box and make him read it. Tell him the Curmudgeon said so. Also if you’re worried about your high falutin’ friend’s opinions why are you reading my blog? Crivens!
Several weeks ago I wrote up a woodpile report. It had been a bad week with standard blues music luck and excessive general consternation. The post was 666 words of black depression. Who needs that? I decided not to post it.
Here’s a much shorter (but just as accurate) version:
Hot humid weather… tough working conditions… Blah blah blah…
Lined up help. Help bailed. Woe is me.
Plenty of wind-thrown wood. Big mess. Logs on the ground. Some logs bucked up, some not, some split, some not. Man I’m tired.
I just returned from an “off grid” break. Didja’ miss me?
It was wonderful. I spent time with a respected elder (hopefully I picked up some wisdom through osmosis). I drank bourbon, sat by campfires, played with a bandsaw, ignored politics, etc… I deliberately did stuff that was enjoyable and good for me while ignoring the noisy and persistent outside world. Time well spent!
I’ve said it before and it bears repeating; a thinking person is well served to periodically go “off grid” lest they start taking bullshit seriously. I’ve gone through several definitions ranging from “self imposed media blackout” to “off grid” to “Dave’s not here“. Captain Capitalism called it “controlling your microenvironment” (click here). Frankly, this is a good time for it. The pre-election heavy petting will invariably lead to the primary season of crushed dreams and that’ll drop a steaming heap of post election regrets in our laps. Take care lest you let that shit into your heart. Remember, if you shape oak with a bandsaw you’ve built something but if you fret about Trump’s hair and Hillary’s server all you’ve done is kill brain cells.
So… after a couple weeks of reflection have I come up with any great cosmic truths? Yep! But I’m not gonna’ share them right now. Something momentous just happened and I need to report it right away!
Our stupid, idiotic, moron of a duck has miraculously returned from… somewhere. Quelle surprise!
I was walking, coffee in hand, toward today’s tasks when he waddled up, blocked my path, and quacked at me as if he had something to say. I was shocked. It was like meeting a loud, cheerful, and very stupid little ghost.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Quack!”
So there you have it. The little idiot vanished, then reappeared, and you know as much of it as I do. I was sure he was dead! (I assumed the pigs ate him. The pigs still aren’t talking.)
I dumped extra cat food thinking the little fool would be hungry. He ignored it, quacked angrily at the truck a few minutes, and then he seemed satisfied with life in general. He hopped the fence to hang out with his pals the pigs and it’s like he never disappeared.
I’d give good money to know what the hell he was doing all this time.
Posting has been light for a few days and the trend will continue a bit longer. I’ve got to do a thing at a place for a purpose. I may elaborate later. Or maybe I won’t.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
John Dryden: 1631-1700
“Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde”
Beware of the anger of a patient man.
D. H. Lawrence: 1885-1930
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Czeslaw Milosz: 1911-2004
In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
