We had a good run, me and my SweeTart socks.
But after a day of apparently-too-vigorous vacuuming and such, they’ve got me singing some Weezerish blues.
Say it ain’t toe, a-whoa whoa.
“Miss me?” they ask.
“Yes,” they answer.
Whimsical and rhetorical?
Gonna be hard to replace those babies.
. . . → Read More: Say It Ain’t Toe, a-Whoa Whoa
Okay, so backing up about six projects to . . .
Which, you know, not really a coffin so much as a comparatively-plain wardrobe that was found hanging out among some rather fancy armoires and burled-wood wardrobes on the back aisle of an antiques store.
. . . → Read More: Madame Waredrobe
My phone has been eating calls and texts for about six weeks. Randomly. Just when it’s hungry, I think. Hungry for wreaking havoc.
Multiple text convos with Mr. OtherSuch have gone like this:
Me: [Garden variety question.]
He: [No response after appropriate amount of time.]
. . . → Read More: It Rains, It iPours
Friday morning I woke up 53 minutes after the 5:30 a.m. bootcamp had started.
Discovered my phone, whose battery I am almost certain was well past the half-charged point when I went to bed, had died in the night.
Hence, no alarm.
After charging for a little bit the . . . → Read More: iRony
Last week I wrote out the obituary for OSS/TOVG Blackberry Messengering. The farewell homage, combined with the incoming messages pressuring me to abandon it in favor of something new, seem to have encouraged my phone reconsider its behavior over the last year. Not only have I not had any dropped calls, spontaneous speakerphone . . . → Read More: Vocabulatreasure: Commercializedding
Last weekend The Other Valley Boy surprised The Other Valley Girl with a new iPhone, which is officially the sweetest thing I’ve ever wished he had never done. Because? With no warning, our Blackberry Messengering days were over.
The depth of our addiction loyalty to messengering is most evident in the . . . → Read More: RIP, My Friend (BBM, 2008-2010)
Dear Yellow Ball Vacuum, who I shall hereafter refer to simply as Yeller:
First and foremost, you should know that I have very high hopes for you. Very high.
Stroll with me, if you will, to the door opening into the garage, and take a look at Those That Came Before: Blue Bagless Eureka, Pink . . . → Read More: New Yeller