Dead TV; Dead fingers from GH; Facebook is dead to me
R.I.P. Sony: You put up a hell of a fight
At last the 27" Sony TV is gone. If you're wondering why it took so long, it was because the 19" Philips LCD arrived but had two very obvious dead pixels at the top and bottom of the screen, glowing blindingly red and green respectively. I felt for the amount of money I paid this was unacceptable and sent it back to Amazon. I've been living with the fire hazard of a Sony all this time and today the new Philips finally arrived.
I was going to cancel the order completely when I saw what a 19" screen translates to in real life: Tiny. I was foolishly optimistic when I read the dimensions that stated a 16" height; deceiving because that includes the pedastal stand and screen frame. However, after getting the Sony downstairs (as I predicted, in a bodybag), I'll never regret my little 15-pound Philips again.
I thought going downstairs would be far easier than up. After all, it was going to the Dumpster so care wasn't necessary to keep it in one piece. I removed the back casing from the tube which, as I feared, did nothing whatsoever to reduce the weight. I snipped off the electronics hanging from the back and tried to carry the tube with its remaining flimsy surround downstairs.
Oh my lord. With every step more of the plastic crumbled away, leaving shards of shrapnel in my wake and fewer and fewer gripping options. By the time I got down to ground level, the thing was in so many pieces that not even the cheapest of tightwads would have been able to salvage it.
I staggered down the stairwell and halfway across the lot with it before stopping to rest. Bless his soul, my new young neighbor was just getting home and offered to help me the rest of the way, and I was far too exhausted to be proud. He asked what had happened to the TV, understandably; it looked like I had taken a tire iron to it. "It's dead," was all I could wheeze out. We got it to the Dumpster and leaned it on the side (there was no question of hoisting it up to toss into the bin proper). When I feel guilty throwing away bulky items like this, Tery reminds me that people leave things like couches (and once even a refrigerator) out there, and per week I recycle more than our entire building.
I got back inside and surveyed the damage. My legs, which had finally healed from the first trip, were again covered in cuts and bruises. I also had a pretty nasty laceration on my left hand that nearly cost me my career as a Guitar Hero. So yes, 19" is just fine for me.
Oh, speaking of Guitar Hero...
I have now mostly completed the Medium level. There's no point in defeating the boss at the end because I simply can't imagine ever being good enough for Hard, let alone Expert. Those solos are devilishly tricky. Fortunately for me the die-hard Kitten Mitten fans are content as long as I check back in every fourth measure or so. After practically developing carpal tunnel trying to get through Metallica's "One" (have a whole new respect for Kirk Hammett), I sullenly slunk back to my triumphant final bonus song from the Easy level. I chuckled fondly as I remembered what a curveball the two-fingered chord was for me in those days.
My wireless guitar controller is having trouble recognizing the orange key to get me out of the bonus setlist. I've emailed Red Octane who suggest exchanging it, but at this point I really don't see what use I'll have for the key anyway (other than exiting the bonus setlist).
Facebook is dead to us
Most of Tery's friends and family it seems are on Facebook. She's constantly receiving invitations to join. The other night she finally agreed to set up an account, unfortunately drunk. Come morning she couldn't remember her password. When she tried to have it emailed to her, she was sent a link to a page that said it was an invalid link, click here if you forgot your password -- to be sent a link to a page that said it was an invalid link, and so on in an endless Möbius strip. The invites and the profile update notifications from her family kept coming though, and she felt like there was a big party going on that she couldn't get into. Look, there, through the window: her 15-year-old cousin only has 3 friends because Tery can't get in to add her. Poor lonely Megan.
She begged me to set up an account just so we could access the damn page, and I did so (sober). I stuck around long enough to add all my friends that Facebook helpfully finds for you based on your basic information.
This morning I received the notification that JeffyJeff had added me back, as well as an invitation to check out his profile. When I did so and tried to enter what I thought was my password, it wouldn't take it. I clicked to have it emailed to me, and found myself stuck in the same maddening loop of useless options that Tery did. I asked her "In the FAQ they suggest emailing them at login@facebook.com for help, did you..."
"Yep." she cut me off grimly. "Tried that. Still waiting to hear back from them."
So, here we both sit with Facebook accounts floating in cyberspace, unable to access them. For our friends who think we created them only to be murdered a short while later, 'tis not true. Facebook is just a stupid, stupid site. We'll have to be content with Guitar Hero as our closest contact to youth culture.