1,872 ounces...156 cans...13 dozen cans...6.5 cases...1 and 1/12th gross...
Please buy my cherry vanilla coke zero. I have a whole lot of it. Cherry vanilla coke zero sold:
Goose egg. 0. Or should I say, zero.
Maybe it's the whole "it tastes terrible" thing, I thought. I figured I'd try some and see. I popped open a can and drank 1.5 teaspoons as Sample A, then 1.75-2 ounces (10 1/2-to-12 teaspoons) as Sample B. It tasted horrible- just like all Coke and dark sodas, except that it had a bad (aspartame) aftertaste.
Then I tried the Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr Pepper with aspartame. It also tasted fine but had a bad aftertaste. Then I figured I'd try a diet Coke. That also tasted fine but had a bad aftertaste. The aftertaste was a bit more subtle, but the "duringtaste" was not as good. Diet Coke doesn't taste as good when you're drinking it, but the aftertaste isn't as bad, either. Get it?
We sell diet Coke just fine. Apparently, no one likes Cherry Vanilla Coke Zero. So it sits on the shelf. Sadness.
Anyway, I estimate that I consumed 6.5 ounces of diet soda, and I immediately felt terrible. If I'm a flower, aspartame makes me wilt. If I'm a rose, it turns my thorns soft. I don't drink coffee because it'll set me at odds; this small amount of soda made me feel worse than 10 cups of coffee. I can stand coffee. Diet soda?
I've eaten raw pork at work before ("make sure it tastes good," and remember, I don't do inhibitions)...raw pork is much easier than diet soda.
I get crazy on Mountain Dew, but I can handle Mountain Dew. Diet sodas? Not so much! The aspartame madness put me in such a way that I divulged some of my secrets to Mr. dataDyne.
He could undo a lot of what I work for if he divulged them to the right people. Aspartame...that's the truth serum for Kev. Laser headed for the crotch? Nah, Mr. Evil Interrogator, just give me a diet soda. I'll tell you everything you want to know.
Showing posts with label Things I Hate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things I Hate. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
How To Tell You've Been Sick Longer Than You'd Like
Forgive errors, as I'm typing without my glasses on my mom's weirded-out keyboard. Yes, here are some signs to tell that you've...uhh long word, you know what I mean. Some points could be present during short sicknesses, as each case is different, but these are guaranteed if you've been sick for longer than...you know.
Then you start plottin'.
Plottin......
.........
- You seek comfort, and comfort flees from you. You can't sleep without exacerbating something (i.e. horrendous, Cough Level 5), your eyes hurt so it's hard to read, you can't concentrate for long periods of time, and you can't seem to handle cold items long enough to form yourself a glass of ice water that you've been craving for the last five hours. TV is not an option because it rots your brain, and the radio would just make you an upset wreck. Long car rides are out of the question as "no one wants to hang out with the Level 5 Cougher." Usually only your favored activity will remain to comfort you. I don't understand this mercy, kind of out of place.
- You're grateful to smell the worst smells. "Ah, I never thought I'd be glad to smell the cat box! At least I can smell something!"
- You can't eat anything. If you liked apples before, it's a surety that all the apples in your state will be bitter. Not sour, as grannysmith, but bitter. Kind of like...eating grapefruit peel. If you liked kiwis, every store miraculously has their kiwis either purchased by some kiwi-baron-tycoon (what else is Bush gonna do now but stockpile kiwis?), or burned to the ground by pranksters. Then you'll find out that you can't have fruit (surely not peaches), and the only vegetables that you can have are onions and Tabasco. You had no idea Tabasco was an(sic) vegetable, but the Sick gods thus judge it, and you make due with onion-for-bread and Tabasco-for-meat sandwiches. For weeks. It's better than Tabasco-onion soup, and much better than Frosty Onion Smoothies. (Onions blended = taste nasty!)
- You cough so much and so hard that you come to recognize, quite alarmingly, the existence of 'false ribs'. The aunt's-friend-who-used-to-be-a-nurse-well-I-think-so-but-at-least-I-know-she-knows-alot-oh-maybe-it-was-a-veterinary-nurse-I-can't-remember-not-important-to-know-let's-see-what-she-says tells you via your aunt that it's nothing to worry about, and they'll reconnect on their own eventually.
- You learn to bend physics, a la The Matrix. Actually, not so a la The Matrix. The only physics-bending you'll be doing is tossing kleenex into a closed garbage can. Quite a feat, it's just kind of like being able to instantly, telekinetically cause your car to break down; not very popular with people, not something you're proud of. They get all hung up on the "Eww, why are you throwing that nasty, used kleenex near me?!" part. They don't care at all that you made a kleenex go through a closed garbage receptacle without harming the can. Ingrates.
- Everyone else suddenly seems happy, perhaps because of your sickness. Thus you get strong desire to read Job chapter 3. Then you get paranoid.
Then you start plottin'.
Plottin......
.........
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Where Is My Pusher
I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. As you know, humble fool, hornets fly because they're really mad. When they can't exert their rage by creating upward lift and propulsion, they...uh...burn.
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The State of Hymning: 2008
Here's the current condition of our familial hymning ability:
My goal is to, somehow, some way, teach me and my family to sing. It will be a terrible journey, and I'll be working with oafish loons who will go backwards on me the entire way.
One of them has a horrible phobia of singing...
...and the other has to unlearn 15 years of formal Muppet Choir training.
I go into this knowing that I will not accomplish my goal. But I'll have tried. And in this dreary, platinic world of sentient engravings, that's all that matters.
Until then, humble fools.
- The losers of the family: me, my dad, my mom. And my brother...he's some unheard of form of Super Loser. You've heard the term, "Can't carry a tune in a bucket." He can't even carry words in a bucket. The poor sap.
- The star of the family is M.P. Echo. Who is a guitar. A piece of wood- wood which is not an animated marionette by the name of Pinocchio- is better than all three of us combined. (Actually, all three of us combined is worse than just one of us.)
My goal is to, somehow, some way, teach me and my family to sing. It will be a terrible journey, and I'll be working with oafish loons who will go backwards on me the entire way.
One of them has a horrible phobia of singing...
...and the other has to unlearn 15 years of formal Muppet Choir training.
I go into this knowing that I will not accomplish my goal. But I'll have tried. And in this dreary, platinic world of sentient engravings, that's all that matters.
Until then, humble fools.
Friday, November 14, 2008
No Defense for Jill Valentine and Splinter Cell brings the Wii360
As you know, humble fool, I'm a gamer. A Nintendo gamer. I must be honest, I've only played a PlayStation once (it was purchased and returned in a temerarious haze, leaving me scarred for life, but that's a story for another time) and I've never even seen an Xbox in person. Yet I've always maintained that I would get an Xbox over a PlayStation.
The other day, my dad was berating a woman with the last name of "Valentine." I said, "Now, listen, Pa, there ain't nothing bad you can say about someone with the last name of Valentine." He said, "Why not?! She's the ANTICHRIST!" His words hung in the air.
"Yes, but, Jill Valentine has that name, and, well, I doubt that the Antichrist would share Ms. Valentine's name..."
"Who?"
"Jill Valentine!"
"Who the hell is she?!"
"I don't know, let me put it this way. If I was less of a craven fool, she'd turn me into a drooling fanboy without a backbone, and I'd melt into a puddle and stick in the carpet."
"Oh whatever!" he said. "She's still the Antichrist!"
The same conversation has occurred thrice since then- each time the commercial is on.
Jill Valentine is a character in the Resident Evil series of movies and games. That's almost all I know. The other bit of what I know is enough to know that she's awesome on a lot of levels, and worthy of deference and, importantly, defense.
However, now that the Age of Idols has fallen, there's not much purpose in that defense. With the passing of the Age of Idols comes the passing of gamer "buoys." I am adrift in the middle of a sea of fireroads, to quote a dove.
I'm sorry, Jill. I'm sorry that I've never had the spine to come to the knowledge of what wonder you may possess. I'm sorry that I possibly never will. I'm sorry that I've let you and, indeed, the entire franchise slip through the crack in my gamer skull. I've done this wretched thing with full awareness and knowledge. I'm sorry that what indentation on the hard disk of my brain you may have made has been baseless or, if possible, worse, skewed by the lowest wretches of humanity, Hollywood.
In that vein, I am unrepenting that I destroyed that DVD.
Now, humble fool, I am sorry toward you that I will not be able to get to the second part of the title of this post. That will be revealed in due time through a cunning process. It should be entertaining.
With the passing of the Age of Idols, every action, lacking a purpose- unguided by buoys, if you will- has to be based upon some strange system I've yet to fully grasp. The main problematic element being that there is no longer a moral compass.
There's no line I cannot cross.
If I may:
Judges 17:6 KJV In those days there was no king in Israel, but every man did that which was right in his own eyes.
The other day, my dad was berating a woman with the last name of "Valentine." I said, "Now, listen, Pa, there ain't nothing bad you can say about someone with the last name of Valentine." He said, "Why not?! She's the ANTICHRIST!" His words hung in the air.
"Yes, but, Jill Valentine has that name, and, well, I doubt that the Antichrist would share Ms. Valentine's name..."
"Who?"
"Jill Valentine!"
"Who the hell is she?!"
"I don't know, let me put it this way. If I was less of a craven fool, she'd turn me into a drooling fanboy without a backbone, and I'd melt into a puddle and stick in the carpet."
"Oh whatever!" he said. "She's still the Antichrist!"
The same conversation has occurred thrice since then- each time the commercial is on.
Jill Valentine is a character in the Resident Evil series of movies and games. That's almost all I know. The other bit of what I know is enough to know that she's awesome on a lot of levels, and worthy of deference and, importantly, defense.
However, now that the Age of Idols has fallen, there's not much purpose in that defense. With the passing of the Age of Idols comes the passing of gamer "buoys." I am adrift in the middle of a sea of fireroads, to quote a dove.
I'm sorry, Jill. I'm sorry that I've never had the spine to come to the knowledge of what wonder you may possess. I'm sorry that I possibly never will. I'm sorry that I've let you and, indeed, the entire franchise slip through the crack in my gamer skull. I've done this wretched thing with full awareness and knowledge. I'm sorry that what indentation on the hard disk of my brain you may have made has been baseless or, if possible, worse, skewed by the lowest wretches of humanity, Hollywood.
In that vein, I am unrepenting that I destroyed that DVD.
Now, humble fool, I am sorry toward you that I will not be able to get to the second part of the title of this post. That will be revealed in due time through a cunning process. It should be entertaining.
With the passing of the Age of Idols, every action, lacking a purpose- unguided by buoys, if you will- has to be based upon some strange system I've yet to fully grasp. The main problematic element being that there is no longer a moral compass.
There's no line I cannot cross.
If I may:
Judges 17:6 KJV In those days there was no king in Israel, but every man did that which was right in his own eyes.
Monday, October 06, 2008
1 PM. Glenn Beck hates on California.
I think that the biggest reason I listen to Glenn Beck is his hatred of California. There are many things that a person can do to alienate the audience that is Kev, but there are a few things that can garner favor or earn forgiveness. And some rare things that can garner favor and earn forgiveness in one fell swoop. If you hadn't guessed, one of those things is hating on California.
Quoth the email:
Ahh...that's a "Happy Birthday Kev" if I've ever heard one.
Quoth the email:
Beck: California can 'go to hell'
While Congress is patting itself on the back for acting quickly to solve the financial crisis -- there is still a financial crisis. Glenn does everything he can to keep his head from exploding because California is now asking for a bailout. Gee California, why should the taxpayers bail you out -- you chose all of those crappy liberal ideas in the first place!
Ahh...that's a "Happy Birthday Kev" if I've ever heard one.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Righteous Lie
Is there such a thing as a righteous lie? Where the truth would be so damaging that it justifies- or rather requires- a lie to prevent that damage? And if so, how many more of these "righteous" lies await down the road?
Would such a lie even be necessary, or would silence suffice? Can silence speak the necessary volumes? It's been said that the truth is a strong remedy, but it cures the pain. But what if that truth did not cure the pain, instead causing desolation and even more sorrow? What happens when it turns from a single "righteous" lie to a common modus operandi?
Would it be better to live with the desolated consequences of truth or to bear the consequences of living a "righteous" lie in the inane belief that corruption will not result?
And what of destroying others to a hopefully positive end? That is, tough "love" carried to the extreme, crushing their heart, mind or hopes to, once again, hopefully, effect a positive end result? Then is there such a thing as righteous destruction?
Do the two go hand-in-hand?
Would such a lie even be necessary, or would silence suffice? Can silence speak the necessary volumes? It's been said that the truth is a strong remedy, but it cures the pain. But what if that truth did not cure the pain, instead causing desolation and even more sorrow? What happens when it turns from a single "righteous" lie to a common modus operandi?
Would it be better to live with the desolated consequences of truth or to bear the consequences of living a "righteous" lie in the inane belief that corruption will not result?
And what of destroying others to a hopefully positive end? That is, tough "love" carried to the extreme, crushing their heart, mind or hopes to, once again, hopefully, effect a positive end result? Then is there such a thing as righteous destruction?
Do the two go hand-in-hand?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Drat: Another Dream Crushed
You know I love Italian ice, right? It's wondrous. There are only a few things in this world I love more than Italian ice, amongst them the KJV, the Aran paladin, guitars, video games...and a few more things, then Italian ice is right there at like, #33.
Italian ice is everything I love about slushees without all the stuff I hate about slushees, such as...
...uh, well, second thought, I guess Italian ice is more like everything slushees should be in theory but aren't. So they really have nothing in common except that they're both cold. But yeah, Italian ice. It's wonderful. Yet for some reason- maybe it's just the world's policy of hating on me- it's not very popular, and thus hard to find. Luckily I've found a supplier.
But I've been thinking...why can't I make and supply this stuff? There's obviously a market, but there's a lack of someone really standing out as the Dreyers or Blue Bunny or eerily similar to Dreyers Breyers (or is it the other way around)...so I was defrosting the freezer today...
And WOOHOO! My Italian Ice business is off to a grand start. I'll call it, "Kevlevleo's Choice" and the flavors will be Actually Tastes Like Lemon Lemon, Wow This Doesn't Taste Horrendously Bad Cherry, and Ooh Who Knew Blue Raspberry Didn't Taste Horrible Blue Raspberry. Then I'll release What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I'll be rich and famous...except...
Well...
Index finger:
Middle Finger next to index finger:
And I also jabbed my Big Toe on Right Foot. It was all bloody, too. So, like, when I injure myself three times in one day such as the above, I get a little careful. And ...when I have ice in the freezer and I cut a the my (sic) finger, I put the finger in the ice to stop the bleeding. And this is what happens.
So ends Kevlevleo's Italian Ice. It goes down in a swirling, health inspector-fueled blaze reminiscent of glory. Fare thee well, What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I miss you forever.
(The dream that was crushed was my Kevlevleo's Italian Ice dream. In case I didn't make that clear.)
Italian ice is everything I love about slushees without all the stuff I hate about slushees, such as...
- Oversweetness
- Ability to melt into a puddle of syrup faster than a speeding bullet (syrup does not freeze, so what do you expect when you try to make it into a frozen product?)
- Inconsistency of the product
- Lack of decent flavors. (It's funny; for the widespread popularity of slushees, you'd think they would develop flavors that tasted good, but I guess that isn't their priority- their priority must be annoying me.)
...uh, well, second thought, I guess Italian ice is more like everything slushees should be in theory but aren't. So they really have nothing in common except that they're both cold. But yeah, Italian ice. It's wonderful. Yet for some reason- maybe it's just the world's policy of hating on me- it's not very popular, and thus hard to find. Luckily I've found a supplier.
But I've been thinking...why can't I make and supply this stuff? There's obviously a market, but there's a lack of someone really standing out as the Dreyers or Blue Bunny or eerily similar to Dreyers Breyers (or is it the other way around)...so I was defrosting the freezer today...
And WOOHOO! My Italian Ice business is off to a grand start. I'll call it, "Kevlevleo's Choice" and the flavors will be Actually Tastes Like Lemon Lemon, Wow This Doesn't Taste Horrendously Bad Cherry, and Ooh Who Knew Blue Raspberry Didn't Taste Horrible Blue Raspberry. Then I'll release What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I'll be rich and famous...except...
Well...
Index finger:
Middle Finger next to index finger:
And I also jabbed my Big Toe on Right Foot. It was all bloody, too. So, like, when I injure myself three times in one day such as the above, I get a little careful. And ...when I have ice in the freezer and I cut a the my (sic) finger, I put the finger in the ice to stop the bleeding. And this is what happens.
So ends Kevlevleo's Italian Ice. It goes down in a swirling, health inspector-fueled blaze reminiscent of glory. Fare thee well, What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I miss you forever.
(The dream that was crushed was my Kevlevleo's Italian Ice dream. In case I didn't make that clear.)
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I don't believe you - you're a man!
Well, me and my dad had a "discussion" last night about how much my brother loves hip hop or R&B or jazz or whatever that fast-paced bass-heavy music is. Notice how when I put discussion in quotation marks it makes it seem like it was a fight? I love it!
Anyways, we discovered that my brother doesn't and hasn't had a radio, despite his fleshly affection for fast-paced bass-heavy music. It makes him happy. And it's always good to feed the fleshly lusts. We have DirecTV, and DirecTV gives you free XM radio, I guess. It's like a normal channel but there are no videos.
So...I was awoken today by the cries of some guy on the "teleradio" blubbering out these words:
"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, I'M A LADY!"
"I'm a lady! Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm a lady!" he blared. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a lady! ... Listen to me baby, I'm a lady!"
On and on and on.
I don't know who it was, but sir, you are officially NOT the kind I'd like to flaunt and take to dinner.
Anyways, we discovered that my brother doesn't and hasn't had a radio, despite his fleshly affection for fast-paced bass-heavy music. It makes him happy. And it's always good to feed the fleshly lusts. We have DirecTV, and DirecTV gives you free XM radio, I guess. It's like a normal channel but there are no videos.
So...I was awoken today by the cries of some guy on the "teleradio" blubbering out these words:
"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, I'M A LADY!"
"I'm a lady! Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm a lady!" he blared. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a lady! ... Listen to me baby, I'm a lady!"
On and on and on.
I don't know who it was, but sir, you are officially NOT the kind I'd like to flaunt and take to dinner.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Troubled: The Destroyer's Wrath Kindled
You could say I'm back down from the mountain. Back to life. But I'm extremely claustrophobic right now. I haven't been claustrophobic for years. Everything around me jumps out and crowds me and I just can't make it stop. It threatens to consume me.
The walls bear down. The junk and garbage piled high on every flat or else uneven surface threatens to suck the life air from my lungs. My mind is racing and there's too much to do and little hope of doing it. It is now that I am tried and that I will change. That is, at least concerning my room.
I reckon, if I have to throw garbage out, I'll throw out my own garbage. I get clingy to stuff just like my parents, but on a much lower level. On the other hand, I sanctify and hallow things. I still haven't thrown out the old Resident Evil DVD case. I threw out the DVD, because that wasn't hallowed. But the case...the case is hallowed.
On the other hand, I haven't thrown out the old NES, and that isn't hallowed. Perhaps I am a packrat. God do so to me, and more also!
Regardless, I now go to destroy and maim that which I once treasured. I am unsure if I am in the right mind now or if I will be in the right mind in the future, but functioning off of what rational intelligence I now possess, I will use this wrath and vexation as fuel to accomplish my goals.
Now I only need a hammer. Forbearance has been defenestrated.
The walls bear down. The junk and garbage piled high on every flat or else uneven surface threatens to suck the life air from my lungs. My mind is racing and there's too much to do and little hope of doing it. It is now that I am tried and that I will change. That is, at least concerning my room.
I reckon, if I have to throw garbage out, I'll throw out my own garbage. I get clingy to stuff just like my parents, but on a much lower level. On the other hand, I sanctify and hallow things. I still haven't thrown out the old Resident Evil DVD case. I threw out the DVD, because that wasn't hallowed. But the case...the case is hallowed.
On the other hand, I haven't thrown out the old NES, and that isn't hallowed. Perhaps I am a packrat. God do so to me, and more also!
Regardless, I now go to destroy and maim that which I once treasured. I am unsure if I am in the right mind now or if I will be in the right mind in the future, but functioning off of what rational intelligence I now possess, I will use this wrath and vexation as fuel to accomplish my goals.
Now I only need a hammer. Forbearance has been defenestrated.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Broken O Key
My laptop has experienced its first, non-software-derived breakdown. Something was under the O key, so I took the key off to remove the obstruction. I've taken keys off before. They snap right back on in a most unfathomable fashion...but not this time.
I'm not sure what happened. Regardless, now my only option is to press the rubber nipple and I'm just sure it wasn't designed for that and will soon fall off and I'll cry like a girl. It's usually a fingernail or toenail that causes the problems.
Don't ask me how clipped nails end up in my laptop keyboard. I couldn't tell you. It's not like I have a Barbie Nail Salon® that I have in my room right above my laptop area. It's not like that at all! Whatever gave you such an INSANE idea as that?!?!
I HAVE TO GO!
I'm not sure what happened. Regardless, now my only option is to press the rubber nipple and I'm just sure it wasn't designed for that and will soon fall off and I'll cry like a girl. It's usually a fingernail or toenail that causes the problems.
Don't ask me how clipped nails end up in my laptop keyboard. I couldn't tell you. It's not like I have a Barbie Nail Salon® that I have in my room right above my laptop area. It's not like that at all! Whatever gave you such an INSANE idea as that?!?!
I HAVE TO GO!
Friday, July 11, 2008
"THE FLAMES OF HELL ... LEAPT INTO OUR AIR CONDITIONER ... FIRE EVERYWHERE... AHHHHH--"
So the call went. I am talking of the Hercules House (this post should explain the Hercules House a bit). The cursed place. Where all things live and die by a very exaggerated, aggressive, and ultimately violent form of Murphy's Law.
It's a mobile home. (OK, manufactured home.) Me and my dad hooked it up with power/water/septic, then made it presentable. This included laying the part of the floor that the movers tore up, smoothing over the cracks (it's a double), and then painting the inside. Someone else painted the outside.
It turned bad. The floor wouldn't go back down, so we had to buy new flooring for a five foot width. Then we had to tile it, and the floor in the kitchen is so crooked and damaged (from a previous bad tile job) that the tile may not endure correctly. That's a big problem with this house: Us: "But it won't work!" Them: "Sure it will! Just do it, man. And do it FAST! And cheaply."
Some sinks had concrete poured down them. The blinds in the entire house, despite being worth probably more than $2500, were not able to be installed. Except for the ones in the main room, about $1300 worth. (Yes, for blinds. They're $100 on the discount shelf for small blinds.) Then, once the people moved in, Dad had to go fix their water lines, because there was a "foot of water under the house."
The air conditioner was moved badly; that is, they damaged it in the move. The piping near the base was kinked in such a way that surely it would fail soon, so that would need to be replaced, requiring quite some mending skill. Indeed, this air conditioner seems the highest point of cursedness in this wretched house.
Here's the timeline:
Day 1, Monday. Air conditioner (Chansey; yeah, I bet he runs around with an egg in his shirt pocket) begins work on the air conditioner. It wouldn't blow cold air.
Day 2, Tuesday. He does some work, totally $5,000. They were without air for several days at this point, and the person who sold them the house had to pay to have it fixed, I believe.
Day 3, Wednesday. At around 2 PM, we get the call, in full. Keep in mind, we're not sure who this is entirely.
"Hel-"
"OH MY GOD, THE FLAMES OF HELL LEAPT INTO OUR AIR CONDITIONER'S BLOWER!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! THERE'S FIRE EVERYWHERE!!! IT'S CRACKING AND POPPING AND-- A--- OH MY GOD, I SEE SATAN'S RED TAIL RIGHT NOW STICKING THROUGH THE FLAMES! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! IT'S WHIPPING AROUND TRYING TO HOOK ME WITH ITS DEMONIC POINT! THE TILE ITSELF BURNS WITH THE INFERNO!!! ----WHUH--- AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
My dad said, "Put it out, you fool!" It was obviously an electrical fire, judging by the popping and cracking. I am not sure what he saw that made him think he saw Satan's tail sticking through the flames. He got it out I guess, but it was an electrical fire, and you don't throw water on electrical fires.
Long story short, my dad couldn't make it to Bible study that Wednesday because he had to go rebuild the section of the house that had burnt down. (That was the day of this post.) When he got there...well, there wasn't a fire, after all. It was excess ice on the intake, and also, the drain hose was blocked. So the water dripped into the electrical portion. I guess if there was a red light all the ice may have looked like raging fire. And I guess maybe the phone cord was Satan's red, pointy tail.
We've had that problem ourselves (the electrical condensation problem); we had a guy come out to help us. My dad was in jail at that point. We almost went to the air conditioner's church; he was the pastor's husband.
Anyways, my dad fixed the air conditioner that night. It was great- blowing cold air, and all. I forget what happened next, but it was the very next day. I think it just went out. Then they were going to go to a hotel, but they couldn't, because they had two dogs and a goat. But then the dog killed the goat. So they only had two dogs. This house is wicked, and its ways instill corruption and death.
And I forget the rest, too, I'm sorry, so much happened. Point is, it caught fire again. This was yesterday, I believe- it would be Day 10. There was fire everywhere, so much so that the smoke alarm went off. I'm unsure if there actually was a fire this time. Dad didn't debrief me on his trip today to fix it.
Oh, and today we got another call. Their bathtub plumbing is dripping under the house.
Have I mentioned that it is an 86 mile trip to this place? And it takes an hour and a half? And the Red Beater that my dad often has to drive there in the odd days they need him gets 11-13 miles a gallon? And it's 86 miles each way, so we have to go 172 miles and spend 3 hours just driving there and back?
So it costs roughly $60 in gasoline and 3 hours of time just driving for each of these trips.
I've told my dad [or, I think I have], and I'll tell him until he gets it: There is no future in this madness. He has to let it go. His foolish pride will destroy him. This house must be given up.
In fact...verses of the day:
Rom 1:24 KJV-- Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:
Rom 1:26 KJV -- For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:
Rom 1:28 KJV -- And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;
It's like they were written just for this house...
It's a mobile home. (OK, manufactured home.) Me and my dad hooked it up with power/water/septic, then made it presentable. This included laying the part of the floor that the movers tore up, smoothing over the cracks (it's a double), and then painting the inside. Someone else painted the outside.
It turned bad. The floor wouldn't go back down, so we had to buy new flooring for a five foot width. Then we had to tile it, and the floor in the kitchen is so crooked and damaged (from a previous bad tile job) that the tile may not endure correctly. That's a big problem with this house: Us: "But it won't work!" Them: "Sure it will! Just do it, man. And do it FAST! And cheaply."
Some sinks had concrete poured down them. The blinds in the entire house, despite being worth probably more than $2500, were not able to be installed. Except for the ones in the main room, about $1300 worth. (Yes, for blinds. They're $100 on the discount shelf for small blinds.) Then, once the people moved in, Dad had to go fix their water lines, because there was a "foot of water under the house."
The air conditioner was moved badly; that is, they damaged it in the move. The piping near the base was kinked in such a way that surely it would fail soon, so that would need to be replaced, requiring quite some mending skill. Indeed, this air conditioner seems the highest point of cursedness in this wretched house.
Here's the timeline:
Day 1, Monday. Air conditioner (Chansey; yeah, I bet he runs around with an egg in his shirt pocket) begins work on the air conditioner. It wouldn't blow cold air.
Day 2, Tuesday. He does some work, totally $5,000. They were without air for several days at this point, and the person who sold them the house had to pay to have it fixed, I believe.
Day 3, Wednesday. At around 2 PM, we get the call, in full. Keep in mind, we're not sure who this is entirely.
"Hel-"
"OH MY GOD, THE FLAMES OF HELL LEAPT INTO OUR AIR CONDITIONER'S BLOWER!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! THERE'S FIRE EVERYWHERE!!! IT'S CRACKING AND POPPING AND-- A--- OH MY GOD, I SEE SATAN'S RED TAIL RIGHT NOW STICKING THROUGH THE FLAMES! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! IT'S WHIPPING AROUND TRYING TO HOOK ME WITH ITS DEMONIC POINT! THE TILE ITSELF BURNS WITH THE INFERNO!!! ----WHUH--- AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
My dad said, "Put it out, you fool!" It was obviously an electrical fire, judging by the popping and cracking. I am not sure what he saw that made him think he saw Satan's tail sticking through the flames. He got it out I guess, but it was an electrical fire, and you don't throw water on electrical fires.
Long story short, my dad couldn't make it to Bible study that Wednesday because he had to go rebuild the section of the house that had burnt down. (That was the day of this post.) When he got there...well, there wasn't a fire, after all. It was excess ice on the intake, and also, the drain hose was blocked. So the water dripped into the electrical portion. I guess if there was a red light all the ice may have looked like raging fire. And I guess maybe the phone cord was Satan's red, pointy tail.
We've had that problem ourselves (the electrical condensation problem); we had a guy come out to help us. My dad was in jail at that point. We almost went to the air conditioner's church; he was the pastor's husband.
Anyways, my dad fixed the air conditioner that night. It was great- blowing cold air, and all. I forget what happened next, but it was the very next day. I think it just went out. Then they were going to go to a hotel, but they couldn't, because they had two dogs and a goat. But then the dog killed the goat. So they only had two dogs. This house is wicked, and its ways instill corruption and death.
And I forget the rest, too, I'm sorry, so much happened. Point is, it caught fire again. This was yesterday, I believe- it would be Day 10. There was fire everywhere, so much so that the smoke alarm went off. I'm unsure if there actually was a fire this time. Dad didn't debrief me on his trip today to fix it.
Oh, and today we got another call. Their bathtub plumbing is dripping under the house.
Have I mentioned that it is an 86 mile trip to this place? And it takes an hour and a half? And the Red Beater that my dad often has to drive there in the odd days they need him gets 11-13 miles a gallon? And it's 86 miles each way, so we have to go 172 miles and spend 3 hours just driving there and back?
So it costs roughly $60 in gasoline and 3 hours of time just driving for each of these trips.
I've told my dad [or, I think I have], and I'll tell him until he gets it: There is no future in this madness. He has to let it go. His foolish pride will destroy him. This house must be given up.
In fact...verses of the day:
Rom 1:24 KJV-- Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:
Rom 1:26 KJV -- For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:
Rom 1:28 KJV -- And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;
It's like they were written just for this house...
Monday, June 30, 2008
My Thoughts on a Metroid Movie
You know how much of a fan I am of Metroid. I mean...it's sad. Worse, I'm not your typical, hang-pictures, write-hundreds-of-fan-letters, spend-my-life-savings-going-to-their-concert, leave-messages-on-the-mirror-with-lipstick variety.
I'm your um...different variety. I am unsure what I am. I think I'm a fan of my particular personality...and you try nailing down my personality. I know I'm quirky, and I don't dress for success at all. And that's about all I know as far as my personality goes.
Anyways, the subject at hand. A Metroid movie. As a fan, I should be happy for this. My favorite character brought to the big screen...
But let me tell you what Metroid is not about.
Therefore, Metroid- and Samus Aran- should come NOWHERE NEAR HOLLYWOOD. That is the basest, most ...I swear, I...
Well. Hollywood is not something I want anywhere near Metroid. They would ruin it, and that is guaranteed. I can not think of any words, sentences or phrases that are scathing enough.
Let's just say that in my opinion, the ancient name of Hollywood may well have been Alexandria. Let me just let that sink in.
Actually... I believe that makes my point quite nicely.
I'm your um...different variety. I am unsure what I am. I think I'm a fan of my particular personality...and you try nailing down my personality. I know I'm quirky, and I don't dress for success at all. And that's about all I know as far as my personality goes.
Anyways, the subject at hand. A Metroid movie. As a fan, I should be happy for this. My favorite character brought to the big screen...
But let me tell you what Metroid is not about.
- Adultery.
- Fornication.
- Uncleanness.
- Lasciviousness.
- Idolatry.
- Witchcraft.
- Hatred.
- Variance.
- Emulations.
- Wrath.
- Strife.
- Seditions.
- Heresies.
- Envyings.
- Murders.
- Drunkenness.
- Revellings.
- And such like.
Therefore, Metroid- and Samus Aran- should come NOWHERE NEAR HOLLYWOOD. That is the basest, most ...I swear, I...
Well. Hollywood is not something I want anywhere near Metroid. They would ruin it, and that is guaranteed. I can not think of any words, sentences or phrases that are scathing enough.
Let's just say that in my opinion, the ancient name of Hollywood may well have been Alexandria. Let me just let that sink in.
Actually... I believe that makes my point quite nicely.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
R from the A: I Have No DVD Drive, Part V
I have no idea why I forgot to make the fourth post IV instead of IIII. I actually like how IIII looks, but come on. I think I was caught up in the pure victory of remembering that that was the fourth post. Usual header blathering here.
Actually, I do, and I really, really like it.
But there's a problem.
You know that, since I accidentally destroyed everything on my computer, it has been one wacky, crazed, failed attempt and useless effort after another. It's as if the whole world is conspiring against my laptop. I never knew such myriad complications could arise from merely initiating a system recovery.
I discover today that, after running the pitiful Windows/or HP update a few days ago, I now have no DVD drive. Thus, I can't use DVDs or CDs for any purpose, and can't even see the drive in My Computer. And the HP Update client is on the fritz so I can't try to re-download the update.
And I'm on a schedule. I owe a recordering to David dataDyne and his family, and I owe a recording to Doug Carrot Top and his wife and their dogs, and I owe Lisa dataDyne TWO emails, and there's lots of good news, humble fool, but I can't discuss any of it right now. This is the place, but the time, oh, it's just not the time.
Normally, if I were not in this zany twilight zone of a beat-on-Kev's-laptop fest, this would be simple. I would edit the WMA for dataDyne in Serif MoviePlus5, then shred the WMA away from the WMV for the Carrot's in MoviePlus5, and then I'd send the WMA's to them and I'd get nice emails back saying "Wow, that was quick" and "Nice work, Kev!" and I'd STILL have time to send Mrs. dataDyne the two emails I owe her and on top of that I'd have time to make a "Happy Birthday Mom" post but no, no, no, my DVD drive is malfunctioning, and thus I can't reinstall MoviePlus5, and the general consensus is that directly after running Microsoft or HP's update, the DVD drive fails.
But through it all, I must remember that anger is not the solution. The solution? That's the solution. So I need to find that and use it, not just vaguely assume that anger will solve any of my problems. Women could learn a lesson from me on this, I think.
Depressingly, I enter into the sickly, malnourished dread-world of PC Tech Help. I could call either of my so-called-friend techies, but both of them are acting out Hebrews 10:25 as we speak. Or, I know the one is, but I don't know about the other. The other is a shady, deathly ghast of pythonic proportions. That and I haven't talked to him for a while.
This barren wasteland. "When are you getting up tomorrow? Depression is waiting as soon as you wake up!" my mom reminds me happily, as my brother coughs and chokes and spits in his room. The clocks tick too loudly. My dad's TV in the other room drones on and on.
I try uninstalling and reinstalling. Updating driver- no updates. Rolling back driver- driver never rolled forward. I just burned a CD the other day. It should be working, I think to myself.
I try deleting LowerFilter and UpperFilter, as prescribed for this problem. I tried using TweakUI (download.com), which lets you change the letters associated with drives...but it only recognized two drives, the two partitions of my hard drive, C and D. Darn it.
Now it seems I only have one hope: apparently, my HP Update got damaged. Thus it is my theory- every theory I have had has been wrong, so bear with me- that while in the middle of updating it was destroyed. Thus it did not reinstall my DVD drive. Oh, I need to hear Mr. Grinch. YouTube has its purposes. Stink! Stank! Stunk.
OK, I'm going to try a "Guided Help." If this doesn't work...I just may start thrashing.
Right. This (scroll down) guided help- which basically does some things- actually deleted both th LowerFilter and UpperFilter. Previously, I could only find the LowerFilter. But after a restart, my drive is still nowhere to be seen. After almost five hours of this, I turn in for the night, seething with rage.
The next morning, I awaken to the sound of "HEY KEV, IT'S TIME TO DO HOOF TRIMS, GET UP RIGHT NOW, AND BY THE WAY, YOUR DVD DRIVE IS BROKEN REMEMBER!?" Thus, everything about that morning that was bad was brought to my attention before I even opened my eyes. I was about as angry as a horned toad in December.
Then, it turns out we aren't even doing the hoof trims because, yeah, she lost the cutters.
After another 1.5-2 hours- during which I seek more solutions and physically remove the drive and put it back in in futility- my mom finally began to help. Randomly, she found a place which said to right click My Computer- then click Manage, and Disk Management. Alternatively, you could go Control Panel>Administrative Tools>Computer Management>Disk Management.
Then I simply right-clicked on the drive- which was recognized but unassigned letter-wise- and selected Change Drive Letter and Paths. Then I set it to E, and I'll later set it to X because I like E free for my external drive.
That's just fabulous. And I mean that in an entirely sarcastic and non-sarcastic way. Emergency averted. I then packed my bags to go work with Pa for the day. There were reptiles a-plenty. I'll post about that soon. I got some awesome pictures from M.L. I'll tell you who M.L. is. But now the search cloud; I'm not greedy for hits, I'm greedy for helping others and hoping they'd help me.
DVD drive not working
DVD drive not recognized
DVD drive not operating
Windows XP
Windows XP Media Center Edition
DVD drive not operational
DVD drive broken
DVD drive LowerFilter UpperFilter LowerFilter
Actually, I do, and I really, really like it.
But there's a problem.
You know that, since I accidentally destroyed everything on my computer, it has been one wacky, crazed, failed attempt and useless effort after another. It's as if the whole world is conspiring against my laptop. I never knew such myriad complications could arise from merely initiating a system recovery.
I discover today that, after running the pitiful Windows/or HP update a few days ago, I now have no DVD drive. Thus, I can't use DVDs or CDs for any purpose, and can't even see the drive in My Computer. And the HP Update client is on the fritz so I can't try to re-download the update.
And I'm on a schedule. I owe a recordering to David dataDyne and his family, and I owe a recording to Doug Carrot Top and his wife and their dogs, and I owe Lisa dataDyne TWO emails, and there's lots of good news, humble fool, but I can't discuss any of it right now. This is the place, but the time, oh, it's just not the time.
Normally, if I were not in this zany twilight zone of a beat-on-Kev's-laptop fest, this would be simple. I would edit the WMA for dataDyne in Serif MoviePlus5, then shred the WMA away from the WMV for the Carrot's in MoviePlus5, and then I'd send the WMA's to them and I'd get nice emails back saying "Wow, that was quick" and "Nice work, Kev!" and I'd STILL have time to send Mrs. dataDyne the two emails I owe her and on top of that I'd have time to make a "Happy Birthday Mom" post but no, no, no, my DVD drive is malfunctioning, and thus I can't reinstall MoviePlus5, and the general consensus is that directly after running Microsoft or HP's update, the DVD drive fails.
But through it all, I must remember that anger is not the solution. The solution? That's the solution. So I need to find that and use it, not just vaguely assume that anger will solve any of my problems. Women could learn a lesson from me on this, I think.
Depressingly, I enter into the sickly, malnourished dread-world of PC Tech Help. I could call either of my so-called-friend techies, but both of them are acting out Hebrews 10:25 as we speak. Or, I know the one is, but I don't know about the other. The other is a shady, deathly ghast of pythonic proportions. That and I haven't talked to him for a while.
This barren wasteland. "When are you getting up tomorrow? Depression is waiting as soon as you wake up!" my mom reminds me happily, as my brother coughs and chokes and spits in his room. The clocks tick too loudly. My dad's TV in the other room drones on and on.
I try uninstalling and reinstalling. Updating driver- no updates. Rolling back driver- driver never rolled forward. I just burned a CD the other day. It should be working, I think to myself.
I try deleting LowerFilter and UpperFilter, as prescribed for this problem. I tried using TweakUI (download.com), which lets you change the letters associated with drives...but it only recognized two drives, the two partitions of my hard drive, C and D. Darn it.
Now it seems I only have one hope: apparently, my HP Update got damaged. Thus it is my theory- every theory I have had has been wrong, so bear with me- that while in the middle of updating it was destroyed. Thus it did not reinstall my DVD drive. Oh, I need to hear Mr. Grinch. YouTube has its purposes. Stink! Stank! Stunk.
OK, I'm going to try a "Guided Help." If this doesn't work...I just may start thrashing.
Right. This (scroll down) guided help- which basically does some things- actually deleted both th LowerFilter and UpperFilter. Previously, I could only find the LowerFilter. But after a restart, my drive is still nowhere to be seen. After almost five hours of this, I turn in for the night, seething with rage.
The next morning, I awaken to the sound of "HEY KEV, IT'S TIME TO DO HOOF TRIMS, GET UP RIGHT NOW, AND BY THE WAY, YOUR DVD DRIVE IS BROKEN REMEMBER!?" Thus, everything about that morning that was bad was brought to my attention before I even opened my eyes. I was about as angry as a horned toad in December.
Then, it turns out we aren't even doing the hoof trims because, yeah, she lost the cutters.
After another 1.5-2 hours- during which I seek more solutions and physically remove the drive and put it back in in futility- my mom finally began to help. Randomly, she found a place which said to right click My Computer- then click Manage, and Disk Management. Alternatively, you could go Control Panel>Administrative Tools>Computer Management>Disk Management.
Then I simply right-clicked on the drive- which was recognized but unassigned letter-wise- and selected Change Drive Letter and Paths. Then I set it to E, and I'll later set it to X because I like E free for my external drive.
That's just fabulous. And I mean that in an entirely sarcastic and non-sarcastic way. Emergency averted. I then packed my bags to go work with Pa for the day. There were reptiles a-plenty. I'll post about that soon. I got some awesome pictures from M.L. I'll tell you who M.L. is. But now the search cloud; I'm not greedy for hits, I'm greedy for helping others and hoping they'd help me.
DVD drive not working
DVD drive not recognized
DVD drive not operating
Windows XP
Windows XP Media Center Edition
DVD drive not operational
DVD drive broken
DVD drive LowerFilter UpperFilter LowerFilter
Monday, May 19, 2008
Part II --- How I Somehow Deleted Everything on my Laptop (and then found it again)
Continued from Part I.
So I did the recovery. It took around an hour to complete...then after an ABSOLUTELY MIND-BENDINGLY LONG startup and setup process, I...found no files on my computer.
Nothing.
Just squeaky-clean desktop with factory icons on it. During this time, me and my mom sang some hymns to help us cope. She was dealing with her own problems, including but not limited to RSS or XML. I do believe I intoxicated myself; turns out, I'm really, really bad at making ginger ale, but I'm REALLY, REALLY good at making ginger ale. I mixed this supposed intoxication with some Rescue Remedy. The resulting Drugged Kev was both laid back, hilariously hopeless, ineptly deceptive, and very suicidal.
But by now, you don't want to hear about my suicidal rants, you're waiting for the deus ex machina. Hopefully, the hilarious deus ex machina. You want everything to be OK for ol' Kev. The tech guy calls ("By teh wai dud, I discovaried a tim machiney n we r ging bak 2 passt 2 sav ur filez!") or, an astronaut tells me I just need to hit Alt+F8, whatever that does.
Sometimes I don't get out of pickles I've pickled myself into. It's a sad fact of life. System scans revealed nothing beyond factory-installed .jpg's and videos. However, all of my installed programs were there- but none of their saved files or user information. It turns out, it did the opposite- saved all installed programs, deleted all pictures. All two years worth of pictures.
Well, seemingly, at least. My hard drive still had 57 GB of junk on it, with the same 3 GB free, but the files were nowhere to be found. I checked hidden and system files, etc. etc. Nothing.
I entered the C partition (the one that had the 57 GB on it), and there were no huge amounts of data anywhere to be found in that "folder." Only at most 5 GB. On the outside it said 57 GB taken up...but on the inside, I could find nothing. Except for one small ray of hope...the User Accounts folder contained all the accounts from my pre-Crisis and post-Crisis laptop. My old account would say "Folder Empty," but it would then say that "access was denied."
I held onto that slim ray of hope. It got me through a tough hour. I told Mr. dataDyne yesterday that I spent an hour crying under the table (it may or may not have happened! For once, that's a good thing!), and asked him if it was more manly to admit that or not, and he said that if I'd already done it, it would be more manly to admit it. So, I tell you now, I cried like a little girl, or so I think I did. Do babies cry in the womb? I'll have to ask when the asking is good, probably when the next godfather-able baby comes along.
Then, I found this page from Microsoft...um, I can't find it. I DID find this from Microsoft, which freaked me out. It says that files kept on the desktop will not be saved in the recovery...oh God, I keep ALL my important text documents on my desktop! And most of my pictures! And most of my recorderings, and most of my extremely huge downloads!
Thus, I go through the whole process once more before discovering that, in fact, my desktop was saved. God knows how. Maybe PC recovery thought that my desktop was My Documents it was so cluttered. I would have lost nearly everything. Thanks a lot, you jerk, you made me go through it all over again. And now, HEY, I happened to find it.
What is the title of this mysterious, life-saving source of information?
HP and Compaq Desktop PCs - Unable to Access Data from User Accounts after a System Recovery in Windows XP
I think I went bonkers when I first saw it. Here is the description:
Can you believe it? Basically, when I did the PC recovery, my old accounts were saved- and under each account, the files for that account. But they no longer existed as logins in my post-Crisis laptop. So the files were still there, but the account that could access them did not exist. Get it? This may help also (link to Microsoft).
Basically, I changed the ownership from my old Kev account to my new Kev account, thus allowing my new Kev account to log in. Problem, solution. I wondrously watched as the file's ownership was transfered.
In ending, disaster avoided! And here's a cloud of search terms, maybe somebody when looking for help in this matter will see this (when I add my blog to Google, that is):
PC Recovery HP Laptop Desktop,
Non-destructive PC recovery system recovery
Unable to access data in user accounts after PC recovery
PC Recovery data missing folders missing files missing PC recovery files deleted
System Recovery data missing folders missing files missing system recovery files deleted
Cannot access account user account access denied
Files missing after PC recovery system recovery
Data missing after PC recovery system recovery
Folders missing after PC recovery system recovery
Whew, that was a mouthful.
So I did the recovery. It took around an hour to complete...then after an ABSOLUTELY MIND-BENDINGLY LONG startup and setup process, I...found no files on my computer.
Nothing.
Just squeaky-clean desktop with factory icons on it. During this time, me and my mom sang some hymns to help us cope. She was dealing with her own problems, including but not limited to RSS or XML. I do believe I intoxicated myself; turns out, I'm really, really bad at making ginger ale, but I'm REALLY, REALLY good at making ginger ale. I mixed this supposed intoxication with some Rescue Remedy. The resulting Drugged Kev was both laid back, hilariously hopeless, ineptly deceptive, and very suicidal.
But by now, you don't want to hear about my suicidal rants, you're waiting for the deus ex machina. Hopefully, the hilarious deus ex machina. You want everything to be OK for ol' Kev. The tech guy calls ("By teh wai dud, I discovaried a tim machiney n we r ging bak 2 passt 2 sav ur filez!") or, an astronaut tells me I just need to hit Alt+F8, whatever that does.
Sometimes I don't get out of pickles I've pickled myself into. It's a sad fact of life. System scans revealed nothing beyond factory-installed .jpg's and videos. However, all of my installed programs were there- but none of their saved files or user information. It turns out, it did the opposite- saved all installed programs, deleted all pictures. All two years worth of pictures.
Well, seemingly, at least. My hard drive still had 57 GB of junk on it, with the same 3 GB free, but the files were nowhere to be found. I checked hidden and system files, etc. etc. Nothing.
I entered the C partition (the one that had the 57 GB on it), and there were no huge amounts of data anywhere to be found in that "folder." Only at most 5 GB. On the outside it said 57 GB taken up...but on the inside, I could find nothing. Except for one small ray of hope...the User Accounts folder contained all the accounts from my pre-Crisis and post-Crisis laptop. My old account would say "Folder Empty," but it would then say that "access was denied."
I held onto that slim ray of hope. It got me through a tough hour. I told Mr. dataDyne yesterday that I spent an hour crying under the table (it may or may not have happened! For once, that's a good thing!), and asked him if it was more manly to admit that or not, and he said that if I'd already done it, it would be more manly to admit it. So, I tell you now, I cried like a little girl, or so I think I did. Do babies cry in the womb? I'll have to ask when the asking is good, probably when the next godfather-able baby comes along.
Then, I found this page from Microsoft...um, I can't find it. I DID find this from Microsoft, which freaked me out. It says that files kept on the desktop will not be saved in the recovery...oh God, I keep ALL my important text documents on my desktop! And most of my pictures! And most of my recorderings, and most of my extremely huge downloads!
Thus, I go through the whole process once more before discovering that, in fact, my desktop was saved. God knows how. Maybe PC recovery thought that my desktop was My Documents it was so cluttered. I would have lost nearly everything. Thanks a lot, you jerk, you made me go through it all over again. And now, HEY, I happened to find it.
What is the title of this mysterious, life-saving source of information?
HP and Compaq Desktop PCs - Unable to Access Data from User Accounts after a System Recovery in Windows XP
I think I went bonkers when I first saw it. Here is the description:
ISSUE:When a user creates multiple accounts and saves information onto each account, the information is stored under that account name. If a non-destructive system recovery is then run on the system, the customer cannot access the necessary files of the account, although the files are stored in each account.SOLUTION:In order to resolve this issue we need to change the security privileges of the folder to enable access to each of the folders. Follow these steps to gain access to the folders:
Can you believe it? Basically, when I did the PC recovery, my old accounts were saved- and under each account, the files for that account. But they no longer existed as logins in my post-Crisis laptop. So the files were still there, but the account that could access them did not exist. Get it? This may help also (link to Microsoft).
Basically, I changed the ownership from my old Kev account to my new Kev account, thus allowing my new Kev account to log in. Problem, solution. I wondrously watched as the file's ownership was transfered.
In ending, disaster avoided! And here's a cloud of search terms, maybe somebody when looking for help in this matter will see this (when I add my blog to Google, that is):
PC Recovery HP Laptop Desktop,
Non-destructive PC recovery system recovery
Unable to access data in user accounts after PC recovery
PC Recovery data missing folders missing files missing PC recovery files deleted
System Recovery data missing folders missing files missing system recovery files deleted
Cannot access account user account access denied
Files missing after PC recovery system recovery
Data missing after PC recovery system recovery
Folders missing after PC recovery system recovery
Whew, that was a mouthful.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Part I --- How I Somehow Deleted Everything on my Laptop (and then found it again)
Today I decided I would scan my computer with AVG, do a complete clone backup to my My Book 500 GB external hard drive (because I didn't bother to backup my laptop), and then utterly commit a fresh reinstall of Windows. I need some way to get another year out of my laptop without having to expand my hard drive. (If anyone has a laptop hard drive that's 100+ GB and at least 5400 RPM, and you have no use for it but to give it to me for free, please do that now. My HD is 80 GB, and another 20 GB would be great.)
Anyways, the problem really occurred when, well, let's just say I skipped to step three, that is, the "commit a fresh reinstall of Windows" step. The problem is, in this context of skipping the first two steps, it now read as "Reformat Hard Drive and reinstall Windows (to make matters worse, you forgot to backup, fool). Resistance is futile. We are the Borg."
A bit more detailedly, I examined my PC recovery software. I have a 13 GB recovery partition on my hard drive. It does stuff (and takes up space), so I decided to see precisely what it did, to assess my abilities in terms of backup and formatting. My experimenting with it caused a process to begin. "Quit or begin?" it said. I figured I'd see what it does. I've followed this pattern for my entire life and it's never once went wrong...except with women. Works fine with men.
"You look very haggard today." "Yes, I do look haggard, I did not shave. I am a man." You walk up to a woman and tell her she looks very haggard- and that she forgot to shave- and that she's a man- well, she'll say "Yes, I look very haggard," but she'll spell it "halberd." It never works with women, especially at medieval weaponry displays in museums. My question is this: just what do they expect to happen? Stabbing somebody with a weapon will get you in big trouble, it's not a great way to vent your offended feelings. Stop this madness before I am eventually killed.
Anyway, the non-interruptible process began, but me being me, I interrupted it, Alt+F4 style (that will close windows, don't do it right now). Turns out, it was 90 seconds into deleting system files. You...need system files. My laptop shut down very naturally...but when I started it back up, it wouldn't continue because of hal.dll which it informed me was missing. I'm sure there were lots of other startup/stability files deleted. Thus I turn to my recovery discs. They're scratched up (how did I let that happen?), but they still work. I did not need them, because the 13 GB recovery partition was still there, but I sure had them. Y'know, had I needed them. Totally.
Sadly, then the confusion set in. Microsoft, on their website, says that System Recovery- the NON-REFORMAT and NON-PARTITIONING, standard version- will not delete files. Problem is, in-between these comforting words are words like "backup before attempting" and "recovery will cause all programs installed to need to be reinstalled but will not delete DATA FILES."
Whatever Data Files are. What does this craziness mean! I guess the moral of this story is, "Backup often to multiple sources."
I woke my mom from a sound nap. "Mom, my computer will not start." "Call Norry, our company's IT guy and bother him on his Saturday." "OK." I got in contact with Norry. He said I could A: go ahead and do the recovery- AS LONG AS IT DOES NOT SAY REFORMAT OR PARTITION- or I could wait until Monday and he could copy my HD contents onto a drive and get it to me and I could go ahead and do a destructive reinstall of Windows.
I decided to try the recovery. After all, it said nowhere that I would lose data (unless I chose "reformat"), and I don't need my computer down for a week where I tediously hand-pick files to reinstall. Not when I have no choice in the matter, at least. If I have a choice? That's fine, I'll take the tedious hand-picking any day. That was a complete and total lie, I apologize.
So I did the recovery. It took around an hour to complete...then after an ABSOLUTELY MIND-BENDINGLY LONG startup and setup process, I...
...oh. It thus ends in a sorrowful cliffhanger. See Part II --- How I Deleted Everything on my Laptop (and then found it again)
Note: Part II was not here on Saturday, I actually had a bit more written but I redid it on Monday and incorporated it into Part II.
Anyways, the problem really occurred when, well, let's just say I skipped to step three, that is, the "commit a fresh reinstall of Windows" step. The problem is, in this context of skipping the first two steps, it now read as "Reformat Hard Drive and reinstall Windows (to make matters worse, you forgot to backup, fool). Resistance is futile. We are the Borg."
A bit more detailedly, I examined my PC recovery software. I have a 13 GB recovery partition on my hard drive. It does stuff (and takes up space), so I decided to see precisely what it did, to assess my abilities in terms of backup and formatting. My experimenting with it caused a process to begin. "Quit or begin?" it said. I figured I'd see what it does. I've followed this pattern for my entire life and it's never once went wrong...except with women. Works fine with men.
"You look very haggard today." "Yes, I do look haggard, I did not shave. I am a man." You walk up to a woman and tell her she looks very haggard- and that she forgot to shave- and that she's a man- well, she'll say "Yes, I look very haggard," but she'll spell it "halberd." It never works with women, especially at medieval weaponry displays in museums. My question is this: just what do they expect to happen? Stabbing somebody with a weapon will get you in big trouble, it's not a great way to vent your offended feelings. Stop this madness before I am eventually killed.
Anyway, the non-interruptible process began, but me being me, I interrupted it, Alt+F4 style (that will close windows, don't do it right now). Turns out, it was 90 seconds into deleting system files. You...need system files. My laptop shut down very naturally...but when I started it back up, it wouldn't continue because of hal.dll which it informed me was missing. I'm sure there were lots of other startup/stability files deleted. Thus I turn to my recovery discs. They're scratched up (how did I let that happen?), but they still work. I did not need them, because the 13 GB recovery partition was still there, but I sure had them. Y'know, had I needed them. Totally.
Sadly, then the confusion set in. Microsoft, on their website, says that System Recovery- the NON-REFORMAT and NON-PARTITIONING, standard version- will not delete files. Problem is, in-between these comforting words are words like "backup before attempting" and "recovery will cause all programs installed to need to be reinstalled but will not delete DATA FILES."
Whatever Data Files are. What does this craziness mean! I guess the moral of this story is, "Backup often to multiple sources."
I woke my mom from a sound nap. "Mom, my computer will not start." "Call Norry, our company's IT guy and bother him on his Saturday." "OK." I got in contact with Norry. He said I could A: go ahead and do the recovery- AS LONG AS IT DOES NOT SAY REFORMAT OR PARTITION- or I could wait until Monday and he could copy my HD contents onto a drive and get it to me and I could go ahead and do a destructive reinstall of Windows.
I decided to try the recovery. After all, it said nowhere that I would lose data (unless I chose "reformat"), and I don't need my computer down for a week where I tediously hand-pick files to reinstall. Not when I have no choice in the matter, at least. If I have a choice? That's fine, I'll take the tedious hand-picking any day. That was a complete and total lie, I apologize.
So I did the recovery. It took around an hour to complete...then after an ABSOLUTELY MIND-BENDINGLY LONG startup and setup process, I...
...oh. It thus ends in a sorrowful cliffhanger. See Part II --- How I Deleted Everything on my Laptop (and then found it again)
Note: Part II was not here on Saturday, I actually had a bit more written but I redid it on Monday and incorporated it into Part II.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Speed Racer FAILS
Via DRUDGE: Speed Racer Fails Utterly, It's All Erin Esurance's Fault - Top Execs: "Teaming up with Esurance was worst decision ever"
I think it's no secret that I do not like Erin Esurance. I have my reasons- you should know these reasons. So when a movie promo includes Erin Esurance, I typically begin my cursing rituals. But Paul says not to curse, so I had to leave this one to the wits of the populace. It's hard to stop cursing. When I need something cursed, what do I do? Apparently I'm expected to NOT curse them.
Romans 12:14:
Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.
And so it goes uncursed. Thank God, the pitiful populace halfway pulled through this time. Speed Racer, aside from being a favorite target for seedy reviewers ("IT GAVE MY TEETH CAVITIES LOL THTS HOW BAD IT WUS- UHH LLOL?"), failed box office expectations.
Thanks to all the mothers who didn't see it on Mother's Day. You made my week.
I think it's no secret that I do not like Erin Esurance. I have my reasons- you should know these reasons. So when a movie promo includes Erin Esurance, I typically begin my cursing rituals. But Paul says not to curse, so I had to leave this one to the wits of the populace. It's hard to stop cursing. When I need something cursed, what do I do? Apparently I'm expected to NOT curse them.
Romans 12:14:
Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.
And so it goes uncursed. Thank God, the pitiful populace halfway pulled through this time. Speed Racer, aside from being a favorite target for seedy reviewers ("IT GAVE MY TEETH CAVITIES LOL THTS HOW BAD IT WUS- UHH LLOL?"), failed box office expectations.
Thanks to all the mothers who didn't see it on Mother's Day. You made my week.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
My Pastor Nightmare
So, if you didn't know, I regularly have nightmares involving my pastor. Usually, he's either the Antichrist, a cult leader, a genetic engineering psychopathic mind-controller, or any combination therein. Typically they're "claustrophobic" dreams, the kind which you wake up from with layer upon layer of blanket seemingly shrink-wrapped onto you, some kind of makeshift, low-tech tractor beam employed by your subconscious and powered by your nightmares.
Anyway, we're planning on doing a performance of Amazing Grace together. We're calling it a manmanet, as duet and manliet are both too girly. We're REAL MEN. (Go look at the link for "Real Man Bicycle Saddles.") Things have been getting in the way- if I'm not sick, Pastor's car has broken down- and I'm kind of not sure how we'll progress right now, as practicing time is short and we seem cursed honestly. We'll figure it out.
So, you know the lyrics to Amazing Grace. In my dream, Pastor had all of a sudden decided we would sing it THAT SUNDAY WITHOUT PRACTICING. I went, "OK, I know this, I edited the music and practiced myself and everything." It was a good Sunday, too. It was raining and...oh, it was just grand. But when the time came, it turns out that Pastor had changed the lyrics and was singing something quite different!
I forget the exact lyrics, but this makes about as much sense as the new lyrics did:
Turtles on an island with the green green shells,
Really green green shells.
They're so darn green you wouldn't believe,
How green these shells can be.
Though some are red and some are large,
Really really large. Some purple too,
And maybe even blue.
But all turtle shells, yes all are turtle shells.
And some spin around like they are Ninjas,
They leave a tornado.
They leave Mario dizzy when they spin into him,
And marshmallows rule the day. And marshmallows rule the day.
I think I woke up at that point. These, what I've come to refer to as Pastor Dreams, are usually pretty unsettling to me. I can't help it. Pastor fits the Antichrist bill so well! And the cult leader bill! And the Yuri bill! (Uh, not that Yuri. You...pervert.) I think I would normally have dreams about the Antichrist leading a cult while performing genetic and mind-control experiments, but Pastor is so like that, that I just dream him doing it. It saves mental processing power.
Yeah...really green green shells. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to get that song out of my head. They leave a tornado! Isn't there yellow Koopas? OH! That reminds me! I need to make that post about the chick we hatched out. Expect that like, another day. It's a bad story.
Anyway, we're planning on doing a performance of Amazing Grace together. We're calling it a manmanet, as duet and manliet are both too girly. We're REAL MEN. (Go look at the link for "Real Man Bicycle Saddles.") Things have been getting in the way- if I'm not sick, Pastor's car has broken down- and I'm kind of not sure how we'll progress right now, as practicing time is short and we seem cursed honestly. We'll figure it out.
So, you know the lyrics to Amazing Grace. In my dream, Pastor had all of a sudden decided we would sing it THAT SUNDAY WITHOUT PRACTICING. I went, "OK, I know this, I edited the music and practiced myself and everything." It was a good Sunday, too. It was raining and...oh, it was just grand. But when the time came, it turns out that Pastor had changed the lyrics and was singing something quite different!
I forget the exact lyrics, but this makes about as much sense as the new lyrics did:
Turtles on an island with the green green shells,
Really green green shells.
They're so darn green you wouldn't believe,
How green these shells can be.
Though some are red and some are large,
Really really large. Some purple too,
And maybe even blue.
But all turtle shells, yes all are turtle shells.
And some spin around like they are Ninjas,
They leave a tornado.
They leave Mario dizzy when they spin into him,
And marshmallows rule the day. And marshmallows rule the day.
I think I woke up at that point. These, what I've come to refer to as Pastor Dreams, are usually pretty unsettling to me. I can't help it. Pastor fits the Antichrist bill so well! And the cult leader bill! And the Yuri bill! (Uh, not that Yuri. You...pervert.) I think I would normally have dreams about the Antichrist leading a cult while performing genetic and mind-control experiments, but Pastor is so like that, that I just dream him doing it. It saves mental processing power.
Yeah...really green green shells. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to get that song out of my head. They leave a tornado! Isn't there yellow Koopas? OH! That reminds me! I need to make that post about the chick we hatched out. Expect that like, another day. It's a bad story.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
I Read the e-Manga. I did not kill my self.
I've always told my self, "Self, the day I kill you will be the day I read the Metroid Series e-Manga. That'll be the day I stab my toetoid artery that runs through my big toe and end your toiling. Until that day, self...toil with unmatched fervor. Let every last breath you take carry you to new heights of unfulfilling drudgery..."
I apparently lied to my self. I do that a lot, as my self tends to not hold me accountable for my lies, deceit and treachery.
Onto the point of the post: On Tuesday, March 26th, I read the Metroid Series e-Manga volumes 1 and 2, and over the next few days Volumes 3-5. Have you ever heard of the Metroid Series e-Manga? It's a low budget, canon, Nintendo-created backstory comic that was made for Japanese audiences. Here's what you need to know:
I can honestly say that the Japanese must be some weirdo freaks. Sorry, my opinion. Useful and necessary weirdo freaks, but weirdo freaks nonetheless. I was very reluctant to read the comics; I've known about them for a long, long time, but they scare me.
Why? Well, I suppose it's a given that there's... differences, between the Samus of the comics and the Samus of the video games. It's a different environment. Samus talks. (I'm now telling my self: Self, the day I kill you will be the day I aurally hear Samus talk.) And she...ugh...cooperates with people. She was younger then, I guess.
See, Samus isn't supposed to cooperate except to be told "do this." If you ever want to die, just go to a Metroid convention, and say "I HOPE IN METROID 4 SAMUS TEAMS UP WITH A TASKFORCE LOL THAT WUD ROCK!" and you'll be dead before you're killed. You'll be dead that fast. They will then dishonor your remains through various means, mainly via donation to a Satanist group. Satanist groups just love donated dead bodies.
No one will say a word, and if anyone does, it will be "Samusrocks."
I'll cut this short...and post my full opinion of the comics later, once I've sorted out my feelings on them. Sort...sort...sort. Error. Sort, sort...sort. Error. Sort, sort, sort.
I apparently lied to my self. I do that a lot, as my self tends to not hold me accountable for my lies, deceit and treachery.
Onto the point of the post: On Tuesday, March 26th, I read the Metroid Series e-Manga volumes 1 and 2, and over the next few days Volumes 3-5. Have you ever heard of the Metroid Series e-Manga? It's a low budget, canon, Nintendo-created backstory comic that was made for Japanese audiences. Here's what you need to know:
- Read them backwards- rightmost pane to leftmost pane- as they were originally in Japanese. Those people are backwards I guess. They can't escape the laws of gravity, though, so you still read top pane to bottom pane...I think.
- Wikitroid article, "Metroid E-manga" contains the following links:
- Volumes 1 and 2 in English, and
- Volumes 3 "and beyond" in English; currently, it is up to a part of chapter 5. These are much easier to read than the first two volumes, and no idea why the others aren't translated yet. BE CAREFUL WITH THIS SITE. I'm not kidding; just read the comics and get out of there.
- A very nice "stylized" version of the first chapter can be found here1 and here2. It's very nice. Of course, you know how YouTube is. Content is removed or taken down so much it's barely worth linking to. They'll probably be dead links before I finish writing.
- There are said to be many volumes of these comics. I know nothing more.
I can honestly say that the Japanese must be some weirdo freaks. Sorry, my opinion. Useful and necessary weirdo freaks, but weirdo freaks nonetheless. I was very reluctant to read the comics; I've known about them for a long, long time, but they scare me.
Why? Well, I suppose it's a given that there's... differences, between the Samus of the comics and the Samus of the video games. It's a different environment. Samus talks. (I'm now telling my self: Self, the day I kill you will be the day I aurally hear Samus talk.) And she...ugh...cooperates with people. She was younger then, I guess.
See, Samus isn't supposed to cooperate except to be told "do this." If you ever want to die, just go to a Metroid convention, and say "I HOPE IN METROID 4 SAMUS TEAMS UP WITH A TASKFORCE LOL THAT WUD ROCK!" and you'll be dead before you're killed. You'll be dead that fast. They will then dishonor your remains through various means, mainly via donation to a Satanist group. Satanist groups just love donated dead bodies.
No one will say a word, and if anyone does, it will be "Samusrocks."
I'll cut this short...and post my full opinion of the comics later, once I've sorted out my feelings on them. Sort...sort...sort. Error. Sort, sort...sort. Error. Sort, sort, sort.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Bacher or Backer?
Note: I posted this on January 21st, but I had previously uploaded some of the photos, so it retained that date- February 15th. I apologize for the inconvenience.
About 10 days ago, me and my dad went by a Lowe's. I found out that I despise Lowe's; the layout of the store just makes my barn owl catch a mouse. The paint section makes me sick, and so does the GIGANTIC HEATER section. Hello, uh, we're Arizona- we don't need heaters, we obviously need anti-moron sticks to get the morons who decided gigantic heaters should be sold in Lowe's out of our state and into Wisconsin where they can sell air conditioners. It's like trying to sell oil to Saudi Arabia. For high prices.
Speaking of anti...guess what we saw the other day? None other than a tailgating deterrent device which I think would really work great if implemented en-mass. See the photographs, below.
Whoo! Tailgating would come with a chance to shear off 90% of your front end. Wouldn't that be a much better world? WHAM, you crash into the person in front of you, and your engine block falls out. My vision of a perfect world..."You sunk my engine block!"
Anyway, you know who Orville Redenbacher is, right? He makes popcorn? I think he's dead? He's old? He even was old when he was young? He was the only baby ever born with gray hair? He looked really old when he was old? He made being old not just a normative life process, but an art? Something that young people attempted and aspired to?
Well, there's a young Redenbacher enthusiast working at Lowe's, apparently. You know those infuriating checklists above any project? It says stuff like, you need a cannon saw (whatever?), and a resendicating mortar shell-vapor expulsion drill, and some Plyer's warfnitinaling ("the process of fastening") FastSet Ultra Glue, and a Steady Hand reversible Insothalinothronopic Philip and Flathead screwdrivers, and always safety glasses, ear plugs, gloves and hardhat? Bleg. Well, if you don't know what those lists are, here's one, pictured below.
Notice anything strange? I did. What on earth is...bacherboard?
If your eyes are bad, here's a closeup.
Grr. Why would they call it Bacherboard? Then it would be pronounced, "Bih-carr-bored." That's horrendously difficult to pronounce. It's so difficult to pronounce, you'd have to denounce it, and no one would buy it.
So, I set out to do some investigating. I didn't have to go far before I found this advertising sign.
Aha! Not only is BACKERboard very expensive at Lowe's, it's also called BACKER, with a C and a K! Victory is mine! About then- as I had my arms raised and was in the middle of a guttural cry of victory- my dad got back from the bathroom. "Kev," he asked. He always starts with "Kev." Everyone tends to start with "Kev."
"Did you look for the tile?"
"Uh, no," I began as I slowly lowered by arms. "See, they misspelled Hardibacker and used CH. I don't think there's any beet free sugar there, so um, I did some investigating, and found an advertisement which should be more accurate than a hastily assembled list, and that's what I've been doing for the last 5 minutes instead of looking for the tile like you asked me to."
"Kev...we now have a living example of why God wrote his word down, and didn't just speak it. Let's find the tile." "OK, pa." A few minutes passed. "You know, like Redenbacher. He made popcorn...did he invent hardibacker, too, dad?"
"No, Kev...he didn't invent hardibacker. It was invented by Sir Hardi the Back of Errfield, OK, now let's find the tile." "OK."
About that time, an employee, by chance, happened upon us, then started telling us about how his wife left him and he has been showing up to work late lately and with a hangover and his boss wants to fire him. "I just need something to...save me, out of this horrific trap I'm in!" he hastily spat. "If only someone had some good news for my dreary dark world!" he cried.
There was a pause, the man's face frozen in a shocked expression of desperate need, his hands and arms in a weird position, his mouth agape.
"Listen, buddy, you're not paid to hobble around and then jump customers and whine your life's story out to them. Get lost, before I make SURE you're fired!" my dad said. The guy started shaking-possibly sobbing- then walked away.
After we got our stuff, we decided to go to lunch. But the restaurants were full up, so we decided to go read our Bible on a busy street corner.
(Please, God, tell me someone gets the humor in this. May they look at Matthew 6:2 and 6:5, and also realize that there was no man in Lowe's who said anything like that!)
About 10 days ago, me and my dad went by a Lowe's. I found out that I despise Lowe's; the layout of the store just makes my barn owl catch a mouse. The paint section makes me sick, and so does the GIGANTIC HEATER section. Hello, uh, we're Arizona- we don't need heaters, we obviously need anti-moron sticks to get the morons who decided gigantic heaters should be sold in Lowe's out of our state and into Wisconsin where they can sell air conditioners. It's like trying to sell oil to Saudi Arabia. For high prices.
Speaking of anti...guess what we saw the other day? None other than a tailgating deterrent device which I think would really work great if implemented en-mass. See the photographs, below.
Whoo! Tailgating would come with a chance to shear off 90% of your front end. Wouldn't that be a much better world? WHAM, you crash into the person in front of you, and your engine block falls out. My vision of a perfect world..."You sunk my engine block!"Anyway, you know who Orville Redenbacher is, right? He makes popcorn? I think he's dead? He's old? He even was old when he was young? He was the only baby ever born with gray hair? He looked really old when he was old? He made being old not just a normative life process, but an art? Something that young people attempted and aspired to?
Well, there's a young Redenbacher enthusiast working at Lowe's, apparently. You know those infuriating checklists above any project? It says stuff like, you need a cannon saw (whatever?), and a resendicating mortar shell-vapor expulsion drill, and some Plyer's warfnitinaling ("the process of fastening") FastSet Ultra Glue, and a Steady Hand reversible Insothalinothronopic Philip and Flathead screwdrivers, and always safety glasses, ear plugs, gloves and hardhat? Bleg. Well, if you don't know what those lists are, here's one, pictured below.
Notice anything strange? I did. What on earth is...bacherboard?If your eyes are bad, here's a closeup.
Grr. Why would they call it Bacherboard? Then it would be pronounced, "Bih-carr-bored." That's horrendously difficult to pronounce. It's so difficult to pronounce, you'd have to denounce it, and no one would buy it.So, I set out to do some investigating. I didn't have to go far before I found this advertising sign.
Aha! Not only is BACKERboard very expensive at Lowe's, it's also called BACKER, with a C and a K! Victory is mine! About then- as I had my arms raised and was in the middle of a guttural cry of victory- my dad got back from the bathroom. "Kev," he asked. He always starts with "Kev." Everyone tends to start with "Kev.""Did you look for the tile?"
"Uh, no," I began as I slowly lowered by arms. "See, they misspelled Hardibacker and used CH. I don't think there's any beet free sugar there, so um, I did some investigating, and found an advertisement which should be more accurate than a hastily assembled list, and that's what I've been doing for the last 5 minutes instead of looking for the tile like you asked me to."
"Kev...we now have a living example of why God wrote his word down, and didn't just speak it. Let's find the tile." "OK, pa." A few minutes passed. "You know, like Redenbacher. He made popcorn...did he invent hardibacker, too, dad?"
"No, Kev...he didn't invent hardibacker. It was invented by Sir Hardi the Back of Errfield, OK, now let's find the tile." "OK."
About that time, an employee, by chance, happened upon us, then started telling us about how his wife left him and he has been showing up to work late lately and with a hangover and his boss wants to fire him. "I just need something to...save me, out of this horrific trap I'm in!" he hastily spat. "If only someone had some good news for my dreary dark world!" he cried.
There was a pause, the man's face frozen in a shocked expression of desperate need, his hands and arms in a weird position, his mouth agape.
"Listen, buddy, you're not paid to hobble around and then jump customers and whine your life's story out to them. Get lost, before I make SURE you're fired!" my dad said. The guy started shaking-possibly sobbing- then walked away.
After we got our stuff, we decided to go to lunch. But the restaurants were full up, so we decided to go read our Bible on a busy street corner.
(Please, God, tell me someone gets the humor in this. May they look at Matthew 6:2 and 6:5, and also realize that there was no man in Lowe's who said anything like that!)
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