You guys! You GUYS! I'm doing it! I'm getting DSL! Wireless DSL!
(Lila: "I don't like it. I can't eat things that are wireless. That's not awesome at all.")
When my modem arrived last Thursday, I immediately attempted to hook it up, and it immediately didn't work. Undaunted, I gave Qwest a quick call.
Which brings us to this moment, eleven technicians, eight days, three modems, three wireless devices, one Qwest service guy, and several hundred angry tears (sorry Dad) later, and, while my wireless DSL is still not technically working, I really think we're making progress.
Thursday, March 29
Wednesday, March 14
Un Poquito de Lunch Hour Lunacy
The world has ended and Latino youth with a bullhorn have taken over what's left.
At least that's what it feels like.
It's Spring Break and I'm on my lunch hour.
(Which, as a result of me having a new job, is an actual hour.)
So a few minutes ago, I rambled up to the ladies' room-
(which, as a result of me having a new job, is now a three-minute walk outside, around the corner, up a ramp, up some stairs, across a courtyard, up some more stairs, past a Pepsi machine, down a poorly lit corridor, and into another giant bunker-like building)
-and realized that this place is utterly deserted.
I was alone in the corridor, silent concrete walls looming gloomily overhead, blocking out the sun. Even the bathroom light was off. It was all very silent and strangely creepy.
And then I turned the light on.
Mission accomplished, I headed back to my emptier-than-thou office. I tried to keep to the brightly optimistic sunny patches spattering the echoey courtyard in order to stave off creeped-out-ness, but I couldn't help imagining that the Apocolypse had come and gone and evidently had no desire to take me with it for whatever reason and here I was the only one left at the college, in Tucson, maybe in the whole...
"Vives estudiantes muys Latinos!"
(Now, I'm no Spanish-speaker, but...)
I'm not alone! I'm not the only one left! I forgot all about that Latino teen conference gigante being held somewhere on the other side of the campus! I'm saved! Hey, guys, over-
-oh my God.
Latino teens have taken over the campus. Maybe all of Tucson. Maybe the world.
Well, I guess I knew this was coming.
And, as a result of me having a new job, I've still got 27 minutes left in which to finish my lunch and learn Spanish.
At least that's what it feels like.
It's Spring Break and I'm on my lunch hour.
(Which, as a result of me having a new job, is an actual hour.)
So a few minutes ago, I rambled up to the ladies' room-
(which, as a result of me having a new job, is now a three-minute walk outside, around the corner, up a ramp, up some stairs, across a courtyard, up some more stairs, past a Pepsi machine, down a poorly lit corridor, and into another giant bunker-like building)
-and realized that this place is utterly deserted.
I was alone in the corridor, silent concrete walls looming gloomily overhead, blocking out the sun. Even the bathroom light was off. It was all very silent and strangely creepy.
And then I turned the light on.
Mission accomplished, I headed back to my emptier-than-thou office. I tried to keep to the brightly optimistic sunny patches spattering the echoey courtyard in order to stave off creeped-out-ness, but I couldn't help imagining that the Apocolypse had come and gone and evidently had no desire to take me with it for whatever reason and here I was the only one left at the college, in Tucson, maybe in the whole...
"Vives estudiantes muys Latinos!"
(Now, I'm no Spanish-speaker, but...)
I'm not alone! I'm not the only one left! I forgot all about that Latino teen conference gigante being held somewhere on the other side of the campus! I'm saved! Hey, guys, over-
-oh my God.
Latino teens have taken over the campus. Maybe all of Tucson. Maybe the world.
Well, I guess I knew this was coming.
And, as a result of me having a new job, I've still got 27 minutes left in which to finish my lunch and learn Spanish.
Wednesday, March 7
Coffee Me
One of the worst things that can happen to a person is waking up to find that you have a jar loaded with coffee beans but that you're clean out of coffee filters.
Fortunately I don't have an addictive personality and neither does Raphael, who was up and out before the sun had actually risen (and therefore long before me) the day of this disaster, so it's not necessarily a bad sign that in order to combat the absence of coffee filters, A.) he used half a paper towel and B.) I dropped everything, left the dog in the backyard eating gravel, and ran to Circle K before even showering. Right?
That said, coffee should probably be illegal on brilliant mornings like those we've been enjoying lately. The weather itself is enough to energize a rock that hasn't got its caffeine yet. It's bright and cool and sunny now by 7:00. When we're not getting ready for work, we 're immersing ourselves in the enthusiastic, jungle-y fluttering and flowering of the plants on the porch with our coffee and our non-addictive personalities, breathing in that clean air and waiting for the sunlight to break around the corner. We're like the elderly.
And, incidentally, it's a good thing about those non-addictive personalities of ours because all this pure spring air ultimately means one thing: mojito season is right around the bend. And God knows the elderly love a good mojito.
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Fortunately I don't have an addictive personality and neither does Raphael, who was up and out before the sun had actually risen (and therefore long before me) the day of this disaster, so it's not necessarily a bad sign that in order to combat the absence of coffee filters, A.) he used half a paper towel and B.) I dropped everything, left the dog in the backyard eating gravel, and ran to Circle K before even showering. Right?
That said, coffee should probably be illegal on brilliant mornings like those we've been enjoying lately. The weather itself is enough to energize a rock that hasn't got its caffeine yet. It's bright and cool and sunny now by 7:00. When we're not getting ready for work, we 're immersing ourselves in the enthusiastic, jungle-y fluttering and flowering of the plants on the porch with our coffee and our non-addictive personalities, breathing in that clean air and waiting for the sunlight to break around the corner. We're like the elderly.
And, incidentally, it's a good thing about those non-addictive personalities of ours because all this pure spring air ultimately means one thing: mojito season is right around the bend. And God knows the elderly love a good mojito.
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