Soylent Spring

Pardon me while I cough--I'm coming down with Pollen Lung. It feels as though I've been breathing in powdered snot--at least, that's what spews out when I sneeze; a cloud of yellow-green. It's either that or an actual mimosa has taken root in my bronchial sacs; I swear I feel the tender yellow-green fronds tickling my alveoli. The car is yellow. The window sills are yellow. The kitchen counters under the open window are yellow. The cat, for god's sake, is yellow.

Enough already with the yellow. Enough with the tree sex, enough with the pine spooge coating the patio table, the grill, the purple blossoms of the hanging basket, the bird bath, the lenses of my rose colored glasses. A charming dusting of snow, it ain't. You can't mash it into a ball and toss it at someone. You can't use it as an excuse to not come in to work. You can leave footprints in it, but forget about making angels; you'd just ruin your clothes. And the color doesn't go with anything.

And this heat. What, was Mother Nature so pent up from winter that she just overshot spring--sprang right past it, as it were-- straight into high summer? What the heck is up with that? Apologies to T.S., but isn't April the beautifulest month? Our well-deserved reward for putting up with a (long) season of leafless trees and lengthening nights and relentless rain and gloom? April is supposed to bring us dogwoods and wisteria and peepers--not this soylent spring. It's enough to make me weep--though I shudder to imagine the color of my tears.

I Can Haz Rant?

I brought the laptop home from the computer hospital today. One new keyboard and $160 bucks later and she's good to go. Me, not so much. Oh, I stood at the counter and handed over my credit card meekly, like a good little computer illiterate. I even squeezed out a "thank you." But I was not happy about it. There's something about being patronized by geeks. What I really, really wanted to tell them, was this:

You basement dwelling dweebs. You pasty, virginal non-men. Do you know how hard you rock the stereotype? You are socially awkward, self-important, and condescending--it's the Windows trifecta! Ever hear of a little something called customer service? No? Then what about eye contact? That one's kind of cool. It's sort of like Skype, only the other person is right there, not 3,000 miles away and hidden by bad reception and a half-eaten bag of doritos. I know, right? It's like Tech-Con, without the ears.

While I've got you here, Mr. High Func, let me ask you this--what's with making me feel stupid for not knowing what an AC adapter is? You can't use the term power cord? Do you know what a dough scraper is? How's about a #21 tip? No? Ah gee then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to treat you like an imbecile next time you waddle on into the bakery to order a cake (which, from the looks of that jiggly-gut, might be pretty darned soon). To save time, lemme just ask you now--scroll border or rosettes? What do you mean, you're not sure? What's to not be sure about? I'll ask you again, louder and slower this time, so you get it--scroll border or rosettes? Sheesh. What I'm expected to put up with in the general public.

You know, Hal, this whole encounter has left me drained. I know you're gonna need a mad session of WOW to recover. What do you say we don't try this in person next time? I'm sure you can figure out a way to let our avatars stand in.