My new Droid arrived yesterday afternoon, and it was literally just the phone itself. There was no charger, memory card, battery, or even a back to hold the battery in place. Apparently I’m supposed to strip the original phone, like I’m running a chop-shop, and use all those parts?
Once I activated the new phone, and plugged in my gmail username/password, my contacts were imported automatically. And I went to the Droid Market, pulled up the list of previously-downloaded apps, and grabbed the ones I wanted. The two that had cost me money were free this time ’round.
So, I’m back in business. But… the important calls I’m waiting for still haven’t come in. Apparently it doesn’t matter which phone I’m using, as far as that goes. <Sigh>
The younger Secret told me he knows someone, a classmate of his, who uses internet/texting lingo in real life. For instance, he might say, “OMG, I can’t believe you just said that!” Literally saying the letters O, M, and G.
He is also reportedly very fond of the phrase “epic fail.” And I hate to say this about an eleven year old, but wotta douche.
My brother is in the process of scanning hundreds of old slides that my grandfather took during the ’60s and ’70s, and preserving the photos digitally. Some of them are pretty mind-blowing, and I’ll undoubtedly share a few with you in the near future.
But while looking at the pictures, I’m reminded of a dream I’ve been harboring for several years.
My maternal grandparents lived across the street from us when I was a kid, in a house they had build in the mid-1950s. They lived there until their deaths, and only one other person has called it home, so far. The one-legged woman who bought it from my mother and aunt…
And you might (or might not) remember me ranting about it, but the woman nearly burned it to the ground. She had lighted candles on her end-table, was changing her bedding, and tossed dirty sheets onto a couch — and across one of the candles.
There was extensive damage, and for a few days we didn’t know if the place could be saved. We thought they were going to have to bulldoze it, which made me sad. But, thankfully, they were able to do reconstructive surgery, and the house is still standing.
During my original post about all this, I wrote something along the lines of “why does a one-legged woman need to burn candles, anyway?!” And I stand by that statement.
But back to my dream… I’d love to someday buy that place, and turn it into a writing cabin/Dunbar getaway. I’d have all the carpet removed, the hardwood floors repaired, and all manner of electronics installed. It’s a great little house… or at least it used to be.
I like the idea of the outside looking like it always has, but the inside completely high-tech and computered-up. Maybe someday…
Have you ever been in a place like that? A building that appeared fairly nondescript on the outside, but unbelievable on the inside? I have.
When I worked my previous job, at a DVD manufacturing plant the size of a town (indeed, it has its own dedicated zip code), I was taken to a building in nearby Olyphant. It’s where the graphic artists worked, the folks who designed the menu pages on DVDs, and all that jazz.
The building was beside some railroad tracks, and looked like a body shop or something. I was confused. It looked kinda dumpy, and warehouse-like. Fancy-pants artists work here??
And then we walked inside, and I was floored. It was like the freaking Taj Mahal in there. I’m serious, it was as fancy as any Manhattan office building I’ve seen in real life, or on TV. Dark wood floors… expensive modern furniture… framed art on the walls… high-dollar rugs everywhere…
It was amazing. On the outside it looked like a place you might take your car to have its windshield replaced. And completely high-end on the inside.
I feel like a broken record, but this weather is ruining my life. I hate it, so very deeply. I’m gonna call it a day now, and go horizontal near one of the Soviet humboxes.
Have a great weekend, boys and girls.
I’ll be back on Monday.