The Clark Kentification of Technology

The other day at work I had to plug my digital camera into my computer to pull off a couple of pictures for our graphic designer. Once done, I stared at the screen looking for that little "remove hardware" icon.

Me: "Do you see that thingie that I have to click on before I can unplug the camera from the computer?"

Graphic Designer: "Hmmm ... no ... weird. "

Me: "Hmm ..."

We both sat there staring at the computer not sure what to do next.

Me: "Maybe I'll just unplug it. "

Graphic Designer: "WHAT?!?"

Me: "Well, we can't just leave it plugged in forever - and it's not even giving us the dumb thingie. Maybe it's safe."

Graphic Designer: "Your call, man. Your call."

Silently, cautiously, I stood behind my computer and put my hand on the USB cord that connected the computer to my camera. The designer and I looked at each other in a moment of scared tension. His eyes said "don't do it" but my mind was made up. I pulled the plug. We both leaped to the devices - he to the computer, me to the camera - looking for signs of life. Both were fine. Some 1980's hero music suddenly swelled, we hi-fived and went out for a Budweiser.

How ridiculous is it that we we warranted in our fears? Many a person have destroyed their iPod by detaching it from the computer in mid-charge. The heart-stopping "fatal error" message PCs slam in your face after just a few misclicks and mis-yanks of a devise have stressed out and provided ulcers to countless.

I remember the days when I used to turn off my computer with it's on-off switch. No shutting down, powering down, or safe mode garbage. Just flicking the switch - one minute I'd be playing Burger Time, the next minute the computer would be sleeping. And the computer didn't mind! When you'd start it back up, it didn't give you a bitchy notice of having improperly turned it off followed by a hypocondriac-esque checking of all its systems to see if anything was wrong (and making damn sure that you waited and worried with it).

I bet those computers from the 50s were super hardy too. You could probably toss one into a flatbed of a truck, go 4x4'ing and plug it back in and it would still be as happy as a clam. Bigger than a refrigerator and only able to do one Grade 5 math problem an hour, but at least it could take a shit-kicking - or in the least - handle being unplugged.

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Chin Up, Right To The Ceiling

So, thanks again for the thoughtful words of encouragement. So kind. They really do mean a lot.

My parents seem to have already turned their attentions toward "normal" and are asking about Christmas, getting eager to have yours truly home and to finally meet this boy that I've tricked into liking me. So I'll follow their lead and focus on some happy things on the horizon.

I'm ready to have less showers, too, mainly because our bathroom is truly, truly gross.

A few weeks ago (or maybe a month ago?) we informed our landlord, Charmaine (whom Patrick has dubbed "The Charmaniac"), that the hot water tap in our shower wasn't shutting off properly and that the knob was kind of loose. Well, the knob is now completely useless and we now have to turn the hot water on and off with a pair of pliers. It's like we're this hillbilly couple that considers faucets too "fancy" to be bothered with.

The pliers, however, are only somewhat effective. Try as we might, there is still a little stream of hot water that runs day and night in our shower. This small amount of water manages to heat and steam up the bathroom, making it feel like Humid August Day In Toronto In A Box. It's our own tropical oasis in the winter - complete with - wait for it - vegetation.

Yes kids, I'm referring to the psychedelic ceiling of mold we now enjoy. All the colourful rings paired with whatever poison mold leaches is handing out some heavy tripping potential. Maybe it explains why Patrick enjoys snacking so much. He's, like, the slowest pooper ever which means that he spends way more time in that toxic place than I do. I guess he's just bound to get the munchies.

The Charmaniac has yet to get on with our request. I'm hoping the insane water bill that's coming her way will get her attention.

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I Hate This

Back in 2001, my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He had an aggressive surgery to take care of it - and for the most part, it worked. He did have some PSA levels show up in his post-op screening, but they were very, very low. Early this summer, his PSA levels began to increase and his doctor suggested that they get nabbed with radiation treatment.

A couple days ago my dad got his latest PSA screening results back. The hope was that the PSA levels would be down, or better yet - at zero. Instead, the numbers are up. And somewhat steeply up. This means that the area they were radiating (the prostate bed) isn't the culprit. The cancer is now somewhere else - and unfortunately, they don't know where and they don't know how to eliminate it.

He now basically has to wait it out until things get "bad" at which point he'll take on some rather quality-of-life depleting hormone therapies to keep it at bay.

My parents are trying to take it in stride. They're making plans for all sorts of trips and experiences in the coming while so that they can "enjoy it while they can." But the very thought of them living with this awful looming reality that 'things are going to get worse' floods me with every awful, sinking, gutted emotion out there.

I am not a pretty crier. My nose somehow expands and turns red, my eyes puff up, my skin gets blotchy. I gurgle and choke and snot up. So when I'm on the verge of bawling, I jump in the shower so that I at least have some privacy while looking and sounding gross. To put it mildly, I've taken a couple extra showers these last few days.

I am trying to see the good in this. My dad is not 'sick' or in any pain. He actually has no symptoms of cancer. He IS able to enjoy today. With continued research, they may be able to screen and treat what he's facing. Should you be inclined, a donation to the Canadian Cancer Society would be of enormous help - if not to my dad, but to anyone that has to deal with this fuckface of a disease (and I would literally have to sprint for the shower again if I were to find out that this dumb little post actually got someone to do such a generous thing).

Thanks for listening.

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Anybody Want A Job?

Here I am, one week later, in the same state of non-blog. Sorry, gentle reader.

The reasons are 90% work-related. Things are hysterically hectic - really, you have to laugh at how crazy things are. Seeing as laughing is much less painful (not to mention the fashion aspect) than tearing out your hair, I choose that option of dealing.

The pace and the amount of shite happening has also proven to be most effective in weeding out those individuals who can't deal with warp-speed stress. Since I've started the job (which was Oct 24), four people have quit and one person got canned. Two of the four people who quit, quit in their first weeks of starting. Their departures, naturally, have only added more fuel to the ridiculous bonfire that us remaining folk have been trying to control. Somewhere, Susan Powter's Spidysenses are giving her convulsions.

And the craziest thing of all of this? I'm liking it. There's just so much to do, so much to get done and so much to solve. I loves fixing and organizing - and that's pretty much what I'm doing all day. The HR Nightmare of '05 is just one more opportunity to fix something. It's one more horrifying hurdle that makes victory just that much more sweeter.

So, now that I've truly convinced you of how wonderful it is, anyone interested in working with us? There are openings!

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