The Aftermath
You make ask, folks, why the previous post dated Monday, May 28, did not appear until four days later on Thursday, May 31. Well, it was started Monday evening after the crew left the mountain. But I began feeling a little woozy and, well, the rest, as they say, is history. Since I had basically slept for 48 hours straight, I naturally couldn't go to sleep last night and I finished the post in the wee hours of the morning. Blogger dates each post with a "Born On" date rather than a "Posted" date. Most posts, you understand, don't take four days to complete. And, now you know the REST of the story.
Well, kinda, sorta.
The CFO and I once went to a Lynrd Skynrd concert at Walnut Creek Amphitheater in Raleigh. It was the only concert I've ever attended where you were given an ID check, a stroll through a metal detector AND a bag search. Lots of good ole boys and girls with Confederate flags tattooed on every piece of skin imaginable were in attendance and, naturally, any serious gun play had the potential to be a distraction from the concert to some in the crowd. (N&O Entertainment Section: "The sold out concert was marked by three deaths by gunfire. One of the apparent victims died late in the concert, falling mortally wounded to the ground while pointing to the sky with his last full measure of devotion, the words "Free Bird!" eternally frozen on his lips. Police, however, are still eagerly awaiting the autopsy report to determine if he died from the three gunshot wounds to the chest, an overdose of Bud Lite, or maybe from partaking some of the contents of that little sack of funny looking mushrooms found in the chest pocket of his well-worn Pointer Brand overalls. Arrest warrants and funeral arrangements are pending." But, I seriously digress.) We were seated in the relative safety of the reserved seats under the pavilion, and as the show ended and the lights were turned on, we turned to look at the slopes of the amphitheater behind us. It had that same grim appearance of a Matthew Brady photograph of a Civil War battleground filled with the dead, the dying and the ones that would wish they had damned well died come morning.
That, folks, is an apt description of the house this morning. Oh, I had found my glasses yesterday and the cell phone had already betrayed it's hidden location in the couch when someone called. But, there were dead soldiers -- Coke, Coke Zero, Diet Coke, Sierra Mist, Schwepps Tonic Water -- everywhere. Some were empty, some nearly full, some with companion drinking glasses at their side. Blankets and pillows were randomly located throughout the house with what I'm certain was careful aforethought at the time. A seat pad was missing from the sofa. Complete sets of dank clothes were found in discrete piles in and about the bedroom. The bathtub was full of murky water even though I don't (normally) take tub baths. Packages of Alka Seltzer and Benydrl had been ripped open and spread asunder. An empty Coke carton appeared in the living area. All I can remember is the CFO stressing that I take aspirin, drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of bed rest. Looks as if I may have followed orders, huh?
Sometime on Monday I must have dropped my digital camera because the LCD display was broken. The camera works fine but, just like a film camera, you don't know how the picture came out until you "develop the film" by downloading the images to your computer. So, I remember calling around to inquire about getting it repaired. Basically, it was cheaper to buy a new one. So, I looked around the Internet for the one I wanted and found it at one of those NYC camera stores (open Mo-Th 10-6, Fr 10-4:30, closed Sa Su) where you always get the best price (33-50% less than Best Buy, Circuit City, etc.) if you can only wait the three days for UPS Ground delivery. I place the order by phone because I love dealing with these folks one-on-one.
"Hello."
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second. Let me find a salesman." (Your penalty for placing an order by telephone.)
"Hello." (Second person.)
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second." (Your second reminder that you could have ordered it online."
"Hello." (Third person.)
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second." (But they aren't about to turn down an order.)
"Hey, Shlomo, got an order pad wid ya?" (With hand partially over mouthpiece.)
"OK, whadda wanna buy?"
These guys are amazing because they carry many thousands of relatively sophisticated products and they are knowledgeable about every single one of them without the need for consulting the Users Manual. If they aren't in stock they will tell you so. It will ship that same day if the UPS man hasn't left the building yet and it will arrive on your doorstep the day they say it will. So, why does Circuit City exist? I've got to think it's the want for instant gratification.
My only hope is that, in my weakend state, I didn't accidentally order a digital candelabra with 2 Gigabytes of SD memory!
And, finally, there is the matter of that portion of the can of SPAM not consumed in my sandwiches that/which (Help, Marti, I need a refresher) has gone missing.
"Hey, Sam. Let me smell your breath, you naughty girl."
"...
Gimme three steps mister,
Gimme three steps towards the door?
...
Gimme three steps mister,
And you'll never see me no more."
Now, folks, even Sam's a Skynrd fan.
Well, kinda, sorta.
The CFO and I once went to a Lynrd Skynrd concert at Walnut Creek Amphitheater in Raleigh. It was the only concert I've ever attended where you were given an ID check, a stroll through a metal detector AND a bag search. Lots of good ole boys and girls with Confederate flags tattooed on every piece of skin imaginable were in attendance and, naturally, any serious gun play had the potential to be a distraction from the concert to some in the crowd. (N&O Entertainment Section: "The sold out concert was marked by three deaths by gunfire. One of the apparent victims died late in the concert, falling mortally wounded to the ground while pointing to the sky with his last full measure of devotion, the words "Free Bird!" eternally frozen on his lips. Police, however, are still eagerly awaiting the autopsy report to determine if he died from the three gunshot wounds to the chest, an overdose of Bud Lite, or maybe from partaking some of the contents of that little sack of funny looking mushrooms found in the chest pocket of his well-worn Pointer Brand overalls. Arrest warrants and funeral arrangements are pending." But, I seriously digress.) We were seated in the relative safety of the reserved seats under the pavilion, and as the show ended and the lights were turned on, we turned to look at the slopes of the amphitheater behind us. It had that same grim appearance of a Matthew Brady photograph of a Civil War battleground filled with the dead, the dying and the ones that would wish they had damned well died come morning.
That, folks, is an apt description of the house this morning. Oh, I had found my glasses yesterday and the cell phone had already betrayed it's hidden location in the couch when someone called. But, there were dead soldiers -- Coke, Coke Zero, Diet Coke, Sierra Mist, Schwepps Tonic Water -- everywhere. Some were empty, some nearly full, some with companion drinking glasses at their side. Blankets and pillows were randomly located throughout the house with what I'm certain was careful aforethought at the time. A seat pad was missing from the sofa. Complete sets of dank clothes were found in discrete piles in and about the bedroom. The bathtub was full of murky water even though I don't (normally) take tub baths. Packages of Alka Seltzer and Benydrl had been ripped open and spread asunder. An empty Coke carton appeared in the living area. All I can remember is the CFO stressing that I take aspirin, drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of bed rest. Looks as if I may have followed orders, huh?
Sometime on Monday I must have dropped my digital camera because the LCD display was broken. The camera works fine but, just like a film camera, you don't know how the picture came out until you "develop the film" by downloading the images to your computer. So, I remember calling around to inquire about getting it repaired. Basically, it was cheaper to buy a new one. So, I looked around the Internet for the one I wanted and found it at one of those NYC camera stores (open Mo-Th 10-6, Fr 10-4:30, closed Sa Su) where you always get the best price (33-50% less than Best Buy, Circuit City, etc.) if you can only wait the three days for UPS Ground delivery. I place the order by phone because I love dealing with these folks one-on-one.
"Hello."
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second. Let me find a salesman." (Your penalty for placing an order by telephone.)
"Hello." (Second person.)
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second." (Your second reminder that you could have ordered it online."
"Hello." (Third person.)
"Yes, I want to place an order."
"Just a second." (But they aren't about to turn down an order.)
"Hey, Shlomo, got an order pad wid ya?" (With hand partially over mouthpiece.)
"OK, whadda wanna buy?"
These guys are amazing because they carry many thousands of relatively sophisticated products and they are knowledgeable about every single one of them without the need for consulting the Users Manual. If they aren't in stock they will tell you so. It will ship that same day if the UPS man hasn't left the building yet and it will arrive on your doorstep the day they say it will. So, why does Circuit City exist? I've got to think it's the want for instant gratification.
My only hope is that, in my weakend state, I didn't accidentally order a digital candelabra with 2 Gigabytes of SD memory!
And, finally, there is the matter of that portion of the can of SPAM not consumed in my sandwiches that/which (Help, Marti, I need a refresher) has gone missing.
"Hey, Sam. Let me smell your breath, you naughty girl."
"...
Gimme three steps mister,
Gimme three steps towards the door?
...
Gimme three steps mister,
And you'll never see me no more."
Now, folks, even Sam's a Skynrd fan.
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