After contacting Dell Support about the malfunctioning of our recently purchased laptop, we were given instructions on how to return the equipment for servicing. I was told to put a note in the return box with the computer explaining, in my own words, what exactly was wrong with it.
Dear Dell Technician,
The problem in my own words with our Inspiron E1505 notebook is that we believe someone (a.k.a. one of our four children) tried to plug in a USB cord upside-down, and when met with resistance, simply shoved harder, thus rendering the upper port mangled, useless and dead. Upon trying to use the one remaining port, we found that this one had not been able to bear the emotional burden of the loss of its sibling, so it must have found solace in committing circuit suicide rather than go it alone and wait for another impatient child to come along with an inverted plug, or a fork, or a Malibu Barbie ski pole, or a Lego brand Harry Potter special edition magician’s wand, or the like.
I don’t know if any of this is true, but that is my best guess as to how the USB port became scrunched. Thank you for your expertise.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Tornadoes Simply Could Care Less
They say life is a mystery. I think it's full of pain, real or imagined. They don’t differentiate themselves at this point in my life.
If I want real, honest-to-goodness truth, where do I find it? In a church, blasted from a pulpit? In a book written by men? In my own heart of hearts? My imagination? The whisperings of God? How to know that what you want so to trust is really true? Some things really split you open, like the wily aftermath of a tornado. You can’t choose which part of the barn will still be standing after the storm. Will the south wall be in place, but the stalls gone? Will nothing be left of the frame, but inexplicably all the hay lie untouched on the floor? Will the roof be gone, but the eggs still in their nests, or nothing but a pitchfork tossed a mile westward from its place against the eastern door? Who can tell and who could choose the damage they’d like to have?
No one knows, and this, too, is another mystery. The whole damn thing is a mystery.
If I want real, honest-to-goodness truth, where do I find it? In a church, blasted from a pulpit? In a book written by men? In my own heart of hearts? My imagination? The whisperings of God? How to know that what you want so to trust is really true? Some things really split you open, like the wily aftermath of a tornado. You can’t choose which part of the barn will still be standing after the storm. Will the south wall be in place, but the stalls gone? Will nothing be left of the frame, but inexplicably all the hay lie untouched on the floor? Will the roof be gone, but the eggs still in their nests, or nothing but a pitchfork tossed a mile westward from its place against the eastern door? Who can tell and who could choose the damage they’d like to have?
No one knows, and this, too, is another mystery. The whole damn thing is a mystery.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Armed and Ready
We returned from the doctor's office this afternoon where it was confirmed that my 7-year old son has chicken pox, despite being vaccinated against it years ago. (1 in 10 vaccinated kids will still get a mild case)
I just overheard this son say to his older sister as she chased him up the stairs, "Watch it - I have chicken pox and I'm not afraid to spread 'em!"
I just overheard this son say to his older sister as she chased him up the stairs, "Watch it - I have chicken pox and I'm not afraid to spread 'em!"
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