It's like every time I complain that my computer is broken, the computer ups the ante.
This time it was blatant computer psychosis, all wacky Pac Man patterns and angry screens full of blather about crash dump this and I can read your mind that. So I gathered it up tenderly and lugged the stupid thing down to the geek powers that be, who giggled and fidgeted and clicked the pen in their pocket protectors and then said probably your hard drive, that'll take 6-8 weeks. Also they said, this is the third one of this model we've seen today! so it's good to know I wasn't the only person tricked into buying the Exorcist 300.
Now I've got a loaner that I had to sign over my grandmother and two camels for, and the thing makes a horrible thumping noise when you turn it on. Probably the fan is going to fly out any minute and decapitate me, and then they'll charge my grieving family for the damage.
I am done now. It was so much more peaceful around here before I showed up all whiny, I know.
How about if I change the subject?
Did you know Ted Nugent has his own brand of arrows? They're called the Ted Nugent Signature Shafts. Gold Tip. Zebra-striped.
I know what you're thinking.
Rednecks. You spray and spray and they keep coming back.
Even here, in southern California, land of movie stars and glamor, and tall , pointy shoes, we have a significant redneck underbelly. Because when you travel east, towards the desert, but not far enough to land yourself in Las Vegas, you will encounter a steady increase in the population of people who have suspicious freezers in their sheds and neon beer signs over the baby's crib.
I myself am not a redneck, despite the banjo-players occupying my father's side of the family tree, and the shameful SPAM-filled years of my adolescence, but I'm excellent at spotting them.
For instance, my son decided, after a brief introduction to archery at snow camp this year, that he would like to take up the sport, and probably medal at the Olympics. We're big dreamers at Casa Vic.
So we signed him up through the city for some beginning archery lessons, and a sweet, tiny Filipino lady with a ball cap and swishy track pants took control of a class of young boys and two girls, all eager to shoot some arrows. The archery range is on the university campus, and at this point it felt pretty sporty and clean, the arrows breezing by on their way to the colorful bullseyes in the distance, the twang of the strings, the cute little quivers.
It was all fine until my husband decided to investigate the closest archery supply store (located at the back of a seedy industrial park) for a beginner's bow (the big twelfth birthday was just around the corner! My son's, not my husbands, although it's safe to say my son is on the verge of passing his father up).
Inside the store lay horror.
My son said "Ooh, fluffy!" and put a finger in one nostril.
This wild boar was on the counter. That's all there is of him. On the walls were the heads of eight of his wild-boar brethren, plus a deer, a rabbit, and a bear. On the walls between the heads were the most terrifying camo-covered cross-bows, and pretzel-shaped hunting bows with sights, and laminated posters of woodland creatures with bullseyes drawn over their hearts and brains, and bowie knives. And Ted Nugent Signature Shafts.
It was kind of a shock. We have hunters in the family, and I'm used to the mental picture of gun-toting guys in orange jackets, like Elmer Fudd sneaking through the forest (BE VEWY QWIET) , but the Filipino lady didn't prepare me for the Killer Elf Supply Store.
The customer next to me at the counter kept looking down the neck of her very large T-shirt, probably because the girls seemed to be free and she was checking on their locations. Both were heading south, as far as I could tell. Below the T-shirt she wore neon purple leggings and a pair of flip flops wedged over tube socks. She was the only one in the store besides our family that was not wearing a bristle hair cut.
It felt like a different country we'd stepped into.
On the way home I saw a sleek woman in a Mercedes next to us who had a doily draped precisely over her headrest, and it was then that I finally felt we had re-entered civilization.
Next post: Anal Gel on the Horizon? I Hope to God Not.
