Carpet Bombing for Fun and Profit

The great Carpet Brouhaha of 2012 is over--pending my bride’s search later today for missing silverware and gewgaws. As usual, I've apparently made a big deal out of nothing. Of course, making a big deal out of nothing has provided me with a rather handsome living over the years as well as helping me become moderately reviled.  

It started as these things usually do with long time couples—a misunderstanding. Who shall stay with the carpet cleaners and who shall wannder free as a bird?  My wife argued  that since she had scheduled the carpet cleaning, it should be my responsibility to be there when the carpet cleaners come and go. I argued the rug wasn’t that dirty. I lost the argument, as I always do. She didn't even have to play the "your grandchild will be playing on that carpet in two weeks" card.

Long Story short? Carpet Cleaners were here and gone in 90 minutes. Short story long? Read on.  

As we say in the Journalism dodge, here's what we believe to be true at this juncture:

Hanz and Geraldo, the carpet cleaner team, arrived on time and smelled just swell. Okay, I have a cold, but they seemed to be well-groomed, professional, uniformed and not-drunk. This is all I ask of service people who come into my home to service my people and vice versa.  

Apparently my bride found these fine folk at reduced cost by using a coupon from an organization which, if I'm not mistaken, is better known for returning wandering children to their original owners--or if the parents refuse to accept them, to the Police Athletic League. 

As I understand it, Hans and Gretel will be doing the entire house for $29.95 and a plate of Mashed Yeast. This seems an odd choice as both cleaners have heavy Mid-European accents, are clad in Putinwear Sweats, and sport a bulge under their left underarm.  (I have since learned both Frick and Frak originally hailed from Chernobyl.)

They asked if I wanted anything "Scotch-Guarded." I replied "only my stomach" and we laughed until we wept.

I spent the time they worked here ensconced in my office. According the California EPA--my workspace is officially listed as both a Historical Site and an illegal Biohazard. Our home itself was added to the Historic Registry recently, which in California, includes any edifice built before Madonna first donned her conical yahoos.. 

Because of this historical status, I am unable to make structural changes to my office or its original wall-to-about-a-foot-from-the-other-wall carpeting. Interesting mucilage fact: My office carpet is epoxied to the floor with old cigarette wrappers and gum resin.  

Over the years, rank sentimentalist that I am, I had mentally catalogued the spills on my rug. Coffee stains, wine stains and whiskey stains, mostly. Unfortunately, the HMS Recall weighed anchor years ago, sailed out of my mental harbor, hit a reef and sank with all hands and numerous other body parts lost.  

So, should the team clean my office carpet? Speaking words of wisdom, I suggested George and Ringo let it be. It was a moot point anyway as both had left their Hazmat Suits at their office.

So now they are gone, all the windows are open, hoards of locusts are winging dry the overflow carpet cleaner fluid, and in two-three days the rugs will be dry enough to begin staining again.

Small criticism: The Carpet is now Puce.

HOUSEHOLD HINT: Few potable liquids such as Ginger Ale will actually remove set-in stains caused by another liquid. However, the old wive's tale that "red wine poured on a club soda stain will remove it" is true. Okay, maybe not "remove" it so much as "replace" it. 

Helpless in the New Oz?

One of the threads on Linked In is fuhkoktuh. My buddy Lin said  the issue just only on that thread. He said he thought I would blame him for the problem. I told him my paranoia is much wider and in fact i blamed veteran character actor J.K. Simmons for it. So...I thought maybe I should start and begin to ruin a new thread. 

So this piece is about computer technology and old farts like me and fellow old-farts-well-met like Chris and Linton and Tim.

Chris said he hated new technology when he doesn’t understand it. Agreed.

Here’s my theory. The fault dear Brutus is not in ourselves, but in the idiots who write instructions about installing and working with new technology

I actually installed a router once. I could do it BECAUSE THE INSTRUCTIONS WERE BRILLIANT.

It took only one clarification phone call, picked up on the first ring. The guy’s name at the other end was not "Trey" and he did not have an accent that made it seem like everything would be allright, when in fact it never was. This guy answered my question clearly. I was not told to go to some Freakin’ FAQ thread were idiots like me who are confused come up with wrong answers for other idiots like me.

All us old farts require is logical, linear, sensible directions. And maybe a nice glass tea.

The instruction that got me most was when I needed a new keyboard. I bought a new one and rented a laser cutter to burn through the Plexiglas -strength plastic wrap it came in.

Instructions said to insert the installation CD that came with my keyboard, and detach my old keyboard and mouse. I did that. Then of course I could not go on to the next instruction on the CD because I HAD NO FREAKING KEYBOARD OR MOUSE!!

THE YOUNG PUNKS UNDERSTAND WHAT TO DO IN THAT SITUATION.

FORTUNATELY I DID TOO. I BRIBED ONE OF MY GROWNUP SONS TO COME OVER AND INSTALL IT.

And why the HELL is the tally light so goddam tiny and out of my sight line so I don't know I've locked my caps which I do often because I'm a shitty typist?

Now I want to do an audio book. record it myself. I dread figuring out how to do it and get it distributed. Halp!

Now, iof uyou’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go listen by golden oldie by that dead astronaut, Neil Young: “Helpless, HelplesS, HELPLESS.

Paulie sez: Newtley May Remarry

In this pre-SuperTuesday Editorial MOBPAC spokesman Paul E. Almonds warns a depressed Newt Gingrich is not a happy camper. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNigIhFJGgI&feature=youtu.be