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Journal of the Plague Years
Jun. 28th, 2007 09:45 amThe tiki household has obviously angered the gods.
Our iMac's always dodgy monitor died (again), so last night, we tossed the ailing 'pooter into Mr. Tikistitch's convertible and vrooooomed it down to the local Mac store. After viewing approximately 54,687 commercials for the upcoming iPhone, we were seen by a mandarin at the so-called "Genius Bar." Said Genius curtly declared that it was not the monitor that was at fault, despite its history of konking out, and despite our repeated insistence that we'd been able to access everything on the hard drive through tiki's laptop.
Genius decreed that the iMac can be saved, but as penance, the tikis must pay hearty tribute to the Gods of Apple. We were also warned, if said gods get testy, that the hard drive, and all upon it, may be wiped at a whim.
Returning, chastened, back to Casa de Tiki, we found buddy Boneboy already darking in our doorstep, ready to aid in field Mr. Tiki's upcoming con call regarding yet more crises at work. Boneboy and Mr. Tikistitch repaired to the computer room for much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
After a bit, when the speaker phone was quieted, and the boys had repaired to the kitchen to refill wine glasses, tiki noticed an odd buzzing sound, and peeked into said computer room to witness....
A PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS!
Or, actually, a swarm of yellowjackets. Which had made their way from the hive in tiki's eaves, down the light fixtures, and into our house. The boys swung into action, wielding broomsticks and three month old copies of the New Yorker, but after much vigorous swatting, beat a hasty retreat. The 'pooter room is now blocked off from our living quarters with an improvised curtain, No Man's Land in Casa de Tiki, as we await Terminix Guy's arrival.
Can we please go on vacation now?
Our iMac's always dodgy monitor died (again), so last night, we tossed the ailing 'pooter into Mr. Tikistitch's convertible and vrooooomed it down to the local Mac store. After viewing approximately 54,687 commercials for the upcoming iPhone, we were seen by a mandarin at the so-called "Genius Bar." Said Genius curtly declared that it was not the monitor that was at fault, despite its history of konking out, and despite our repeated insistence that we'd been able to access everything on the hard drive through tiki's laptop.
Genius decreed that the iMac can be saved, but as penance, the tikis must pay hearty tribute to the Gods of Apple. We were also warned, if said gods get testy, that the hard drive, and all upon it, may be wiped at a whim.
Returning, chastened, back to Casa de Tiki, we found buddy Boneboy already darking in our doorstep, ready to aid in field Mr. Tiki's upcoming con call regarding yet more crises at work. Boneboy and Mr. Tikistitch repaired to the computer room for much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
After a bit, when the speaker phone was quieted, and the boys had repaired to the kitchen to refill wine glasses, tiki noticed an odd buzzing sound, and peeked into said computer room to witness....
A PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS!
Or, actually, a swarm of yellowjackets. Which had made their way from the hive in tiki's eaves, down the light fixtures, and into our house. The boys swung into action, wielding broomsticks and three month old copies of the New Yorker, but after much vigorous swatting, beat a hasty retreat. The 'pooter room is now blocked off from our living quarters with an improvised curtain, No Man's Land in Casa de Tiki, as we await Terminix Guy's arrival.
Can we please go on vacation now?
