(The lights are officially out at Big Pink. Mine may have been the last in whole building, but the guy in the house behind the white pickup truck, lower right, is still proudly illuminated at night. Photo Socotra).
Get us to February. Please.
I slept until almost seven this morning. I can’t believe it. I lurched through the first conference call of the morning in my bunny slippers, since Comcast “on demand” doesn’t work and that is the only way I watch television anymore.
So, I talked to the call center in the Philippines and they were kind enough to dispatch a technician, three to five in the afternoon yesterday. I disengaged from the office and got set up to work on a couple projects at home.
I stayed in my business togs and hoped the Comcast dude would come, swap out the cable box and I could get out and have dinner with my LTJG.
The minutes crept by, and five o’clock came and went and I was back with Metro Manila to try to find out where the hell the technician might be, and well, the call from dispatch at six said that my information never made it to the tech’s mobile device, and I called the lieutenant and said the hell with it, come over for Chinese and I will give you a check and something else in honor of your birthday, which he did.
Now the morning is hosed because the Philippines graciously rescheduled me for ten-twelve today. When I think of the time I have wasted with these monopolistic bastards…service out for nearly a month one time…I am going to strike a blow for freedom and go with FiOS, which is actually now in the building, and I have seen their workmen dragging fiber and tucking it into the races in the upper corners of the passageways.
It is not quite ready for prime time, but the instant that it is, I am gone from the evil Comcast empire, which has the efficiency and compassion of Obamacare, but don’t get me started on that. So I am tapping my bunny slippers, participating in conference calls and tapping out messages about my contracts.
(Th Mexican Ninjas claim they will mask and paint the balcony floor a prim battleship gray today. Photo Socotra).
It is a good morning to be oppressed by the implacable Cable company. The Mexican Ninjas are going to be clambering over the balcony today according to the flier that was tucked under my door yesterday afternoon. I will have to apply advanced security tradecraft to keep them at bay, like actually locking the back door.
Forty-eight hours with no foot traffic, but by February I can move the Adirondack chairs back out there and get ready for the Spring lounging season.
It is changing out there. I mentioned that the crocuses of Spring know something we don’t. They are poking their little green heads up out of the soil, responding to the increased minutes of light, or something. That certainly would not be warmth, since we got the discarded cold front from the Western Mountains and plains and really shivered for the first time this season.
The LTJG was very stern with me last night. “Take down the Christmas lights, Old Man. What are you thinking?”
“I like them, and that guy across Pershing street is still displaying his lights on the fence.”
“It is time, Old Man.”
“All right,” I sighed. “Season is over. Unplug the timer and let’s be done with it.”
The JG clambered over the intricately-carved mahogany ceremonial chair in the corner and wiggled the timer box until it popped out of the jack in the wall and the lights plunged black, leaving the window dark against the January night.
“But I am not taking the lights down. I am going to turn them on in only ten months, you know?” If I am still here, I thought. This is going to be an interesting year.
How we came to the dousing of the colored lights was a little curious. I like to go to Willow on Monday nights and drown the last dregs of the weekend with some crisp happy hour white and catch up on what everyone else did to amuse themselves. Liz-with-an-S had announced that the cooling off period was about done and she would be back with that winsome way of hers as a civilian, and I sent her an email during the working day to inquire if she was ready for re-emergence.
“Next week,” she announced, and I made an entry on the calendar. It will be February then, and Spring comes in March.
(The Ninjas at work. They are much more punctual than the Comcast bastards. Photo Socotra)
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com