The perils of the echo chamber.
Getting serious about the Chesapeake Bay.
At first I cringed at "Kafkaesque" in the headline, but it's kind of fitting.
I, too, will miss Ellen Goodman. She was probably the first columnist I ever read, back in Boston, even back when I lived with my parents and read her columns in the Globe. I also agree with Kathleen Parker about drawing lines in the sand with regard to left and right, and, I hate to say it, but with regard suspicion of men who declare themselves feminists. I don't have issues with men who are feminists, but the ones who go out of their way to claim the title always, at least in my experience, bear some serious underlying misogyny.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Tuesday evening roundup
The Onion on food stamps.
Tom Shales on Brit Hume. I'd heard the 'convert to Christianity' part, which didn't strike me as that odd, but it's the 'Buddhism isn't about forgiveness' part that's truly amazing.
I've sent mom this article on traffic management.
Tom Shales on Brit Hume. I'd heard the 'convert to Christianity' part, which didn't strike me as that odd, but it's the 'Buddhism isn't about forgiveness' part that's truly amazing.
I've sent mom this article on traffic management.
Tuesday morning roundup
Our legal system, absurdities and all, isn't optional.
I repeat: people have complained that "Baywatch" was our most deep-reaching export, but Baywatch was preferable to these people.
The universe is eccentric.
I repeat: people have complained that "Baywatch" was our most deep-reaching export, but Baywatch was preferable to these people.
The universe is eccentric.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Self-conscious fiction
This short story is very good, but self-conscious.
Last week I sent a friend this commentary on how many Indian novels seem to be written for foreigners, that the kind of things that are explicitly written out are already obvious to anyone who knows the country. And that's what I mean by self-conscious: a Nigerian might like the above short-story, but I imagine he or she would find it overstated. Perhaps not; what do I know?
Last week I sent a friend this commentary on how many Indian novels seem to be written for foreigners, that the kind of things that are explicitly written out are already obvious to anyone who knows the country. And that's what I mean by self-conscious: a Nigerian might like the above short-story, but I imagine he or she would find it overstated. Perhaps not; what do I know?
Monday morning roundup
Brilliant web app for local papers. If my mom had access to it, she'd complain about every unsynchronized traffic light in Greater Boston.
The last decade was pretty good for much of the rest of the world.
People have been talking about engaging Puntland for almost a decade, at least.
The last decade was pretty good for much of the rest of the world.
People have been talking about engaging Puntland for almost a decade, at least.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
My parents are a mess
I wasn't going to blog about this because my parents are doing me a huge favor, which they have to do because I stupidly left my cell phone charger at their house. But I can't help myself, at this point.
I just got an e-mail from dad asking for my mailing address.
Really?
Do anyone else's parents not have their mailing address?
***
Earlier
Skype convo
Mom: I can't find it. What does it look like?
A.: It's black and both ends are rectangular.
Mom: Huh.
A.: I'll send you a link.
Mom: Ohhh--it's Sony Ericsson? I was looking for something that said AT&T. I think I did see something like that.
A.: Great!
***
Two days ago (different topic)
Mom: Did you have spiced rum recipes?
A.: Huh?
Mom: Henrietta said that a while ago, you'd said you had rum recommendations and recipes.
A.: The Post just published recipes for spiced and buttered rum. I'll send them your way. My rum of choice is Flor de Cana, with a tilde/squiggle over the 'n'.
Mom: Have you tried those recipes?
A.: No, I haven't made anything with rum in ages, apart from desserts. No drinks, though.
Mom: Why does that brand sound familiar?
A.: I'd brought some back from Nicaragua. You might still have some in the house, but I didn't see any.
Mom: Why rum?
A.: Regional drink, I guess.
I just got an e-mail from dad asking for my mailing address.
Really?
Do anyone else's parents not have their mailing address?
***
Earlier
Skype convo
Mom: I can't find it. What does it look like?
A.: It's black and both ends are rectangular.
Mom: Huh.
A.: I'll send you a link.
Mom: Ohhh--it's Sony Ericsson? I was looking for something that said AT&T. I think I did see something like that.
A.: Great!
***
Two days ago (different topic)
Mom: Did you have spiced rum recipes?
A.: Huh?
Mom: Henrietta said that a while ago, you'd said you had rum recommendations and recipes.
A.: The Post just published recipes for spiced and buttered rum. I'll send them your way. My rum of choice is Flor de Cana, with a tilde/squiggle over the 'n'.
Mom: Have you tried those recipes?
A.: No, I haven't made anything with rum in ages, apart from desserts. No drinks, though.
Mom: Why does that brand sound familiar?
A.: I'd brought some back from Nicaragua. You might still have some in the house, but I didn't see any.
Mom: Why rum?
A.: Regional drink, I guess.
post-RM RM blog
According to this piece by Adam Gopnik, there's convincing evidence that Vincent Van Gogh didn't cut off his own ear; rather, his roommate, Paul Gauguin, severed it with a fencing epee. The article is generally sympathetic to Van Gogh, but acknowledges that he would never shut up, which didn't make for smooth cohabitation.
***
I keep finding stuff that RM bought and stashed--previously, light bulbs; now, cleaning products. Thing is, I wasn't *lacking* in cleaning products. I mean, had RM asked me, I could have directed him to the all-purpose cleaner and sponges. Alternatively, he could have checked in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Unless he did, and figured it would be worthwhile to get a bottle for the upstairs bathroom, to stash in that vanity, in case it was too much to go downstairs and use the already-purchased bottle. Or unless he did, and decided that non-toxic all-purpose cleaner was insufficiently antibacterial for the bathroom. And that sponges not attached to a handle were inadequate for bathroom cleaning. But I doubt it; he probably gathered, against the evidence at hand and common sense, that I didn't have any of that stuff, and that he was doing me a huge favor by buying it. As for asking first, he didn't like to do that--in a way, he prided himself on figuring things out for himself, even when it was clear that he usually figured wrong. Of course, the clearest case of 'why didn't you just ask' was when he went for a run and assumed I'd be home when he got back. I was right there. He could have just asked me. But didn't bother. So why would he ask if I already had all-purpose cleaner?
More importantly, why am I still analyzing RM's behavior? I suppose it focuses my rejoicing over his departure.
***
I keep finding stuff that RM bought and stashed--previously, light bulbs; now, cleaning products. Thing is, I wasn't *lacking* in cleaning products. I mean, had RM asked me, I could have directed him to the all-purpose cleaner and sponges. Alternatively, he could have checked in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Unless he did, and figured it would be worthwhile to get a bottle for the upstairs bathroom, to stash in that vanity, in case it was too much to go downstairs and use the already-purchased bottle. Or unless he did, and decided that non-toxic all-purpose cleaner was insufficiently antibacterial for the bathroom. And that sponges not attached to a handle were inadequate for bathroom cleaning. But I doubt it; he probably gathered, against the evidence at hand and common sense, that I didn't have any of that stuff, and that he was doing me a huge favor by buying it. As for asking first, he didn't like to do that--in a way, he prided himself on figuring things out for himself, even when it was clear that he usually figured wrong. Of course, the clearest case of 'why didn't you just ask' was when he went for a run and assumed I'd be home when he got back. I was right there. He could have just asked me. But didn't bother. So why would he ask if I already had all-purpose cleaner?
More importantly, why am I still analyzing RM's behavior? I suppose it focuses my rejoicing over his departure.
Sunday morning roundup
Who'd have thought that the New Yorker's profile of Whole Foods' founder might include a Che Guevara reference? For a more expected Che reference, click here.
The case for publishers.
Bono's eclectic, forward-looking top-ten list.
Real estate investors are already squeezing out traditional home-buyers around DC.
The recession's silver lining: people are rediscovering 'doing' instead of always buying. I hope my mom will take part in this national experience of rediscovery.
National security myths.
There's a wind advisory in the area through 6pm. Trash continues to blow into my yard, as well as those of my neighbors, in spite of their fences. Perhaps we could start taxing McDonald's containers, too? Did I already say that?
The case for publishers.
Bono's eclectic, forward-looking top-ten list.
Real estate investors are already squeezing out traditional home-buyers around DC.
The recession's silver lining: people are rediscovering 'doing' instead of always buying. I hope my mom will take part in this national experience of rediscovery.
National security myths.
There's a wind advisory in the area through 6pm. Trash continues to blow into my yard, as well as those of my neighbors, in spite of their fences. Perhaps we could start taxing McDonald's containers, too? Did I already say that?
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Saturday morning roundup
Across Mexico, women channel their aspirations for the new year through the color of their unmentionables. In India, the morning-after pill reflects change.
Wah, wah--look, people, if this is how you react to having to pay five cents for a grocery bag, consider what other travesties you might come across in your life. Let's bring the bag tax to VA--there was a plastic bag hanging from my rose bush this morning. It's mostly McD's wrappers that blow in. The front yard fence is going up as soon as the ground thaws again.
I suppose I should direct your attention to the Post's list of what's out and what's in.
Okay, off my butt and to the grocery store, for real this time.
Wah, wah--look, people, if this is how you react to having to pay five cents for a grocery bag, consider what other travesties you might come across in your life. Let's bring the bag tax to VA--there was a plastic bag hanging from my rose bush this morning. It's mostly McD's wrappers that blow in. The front yard fence is going up as soon as the ground thaws again.
I suppose I should direct your attention to the Post's list of what's out and what's in.
Okay, off my butt and to the grocery store, for real this time.
When laziness goes wrong
A.'s internal monologue: I'm tired. It looks cold. I do have frozen vegetables.
[Five minutes later]
Why are they still not cooking? Set them on "high." I'm bored. Time to get the paper. There's so much f*ing trash out here--I'd better pick some of it up.
[Three seconds later, the front door slams shut. And locks.]
Zoolander moment: good thing I wore underwear today.
Maybe Gracie could let me in. There's the whole opposable thumbs issue. Better see if my neighbors are home. They're probably asleep. You have no choice, unless you want the spinach and peppers on the stove to burn your house down.
Note to self: make sure the bottom lock is unlocked when you don't have the key.
[Five minutes later]
Why are they still not cooking? Set them on "high." I'm bored. Time to get the paper. There's so much f*ing trash out here--I'd better pick some of it up.
[Three seconds later, the front door slams shut. And locks.]
Zoolander moment: good thing I wore underwear today.
Maybe Gracie could let me in. There's the whole opposable thumbs issue. Better see if my neighbors are home. They're probably asleep. You have no choice, unless you want the spinach and peppers on the stove to burn your house down.
Note to self: make sure the bottom lock is unlocked when you don't have the key.
Saturday morning roundup
Dana Milbank fears for his country.
In Darfur, less hell is still hell, but there's hope.
Japan's jobless are turning to capsule hotels for housing.
Gail Collins' end-of-year quiz.
Okay, I need to go get some food before I read the Post. Ciao.
In Darfur, less hell is still hell, but there's hope.
Japan's jobless are turning to capsule hotels for housing.
Gail Collins' end-of-year quiz.
Okay, I need to go get some food before I read the Post. Ciao.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Looking back on the holidays
It was a pretty low-key week, as visits home go. Sure, there were a few screaming fights, but they were mostly political (runner up topic: mom trying to stick something on me, like cheese or an ill-fitting coat). 
There was, of course, plenty of commentary about my weight, but nothing like that of past years. This is not the kind of thing that would have sparked the establishment of this blog. I'm not sure *why* mom has been more mellow--could be that this was my first visit of the season, rather than the third; could be that I actually made myself useful--not because I hadn't wanted to in past years, but the things that mom needed this time around--canceling a credit card, fixing her old computer, setting up a wireless connection for her new one--actually corresponded to my abilities, unlike writing complaint letters to her tastes. Unlike the past couple of years at least, there was no moment where I wished I had my car so I could just go home. I actually enjoyed spending the week with my parents, and, of course, seeing my friends.
Which is not to say that it's not great to be home. I hadn't got to the point where I realized I was craving alone time, but it's good to have it (not only because the idiot Post circulation people continued to deliver the paper while I was away). It's good to have the house to myself (don't even get me started about how great it is not having a roommate), to be on my own schedule, to have access to public transportation, etc. It's crazy how much driving around we did compared to how little I usually do, and we didn't even do that much. But it's a different lifestyle. Driving around Newton, once you get out past the area where my parents live, is insane. The houses are so unnecessary and enormous--not that there's none of that here, but it's probably much farther out. Which reminds me of a conversation we had at dinner on Wednesday night.
Misha: Your mom said your house was okay but that there wasn't a lot of space between houses.
A.: Well, no. I live right in a city.
Misha: We live right in a city, too.
A.: This is more of a suburb.
I'm certainly not hurting for space between houses (I'm attached on one side and have a narrowish space to the side). My parents don't have much space to either side of their house, either. I'm not slamming Misha, or my mother, but it's striking what their expectations are in terms of how much "personal space" an urban house should have.
Anyway, riding around, by car and T, I got to see some beautiful parts of Boston and the surrounding area.
***
We did end up doing some crosswords (and some quizzes) on New Year's Eve. A great line came out of the whole thing, but I can't remember it exactly. At one point, Wendy burst out with, "that's it! we have to learn the months of the Hebrew calendar!"
***
Here are some more pictures from the last month:
Alexandria
Boston area
There was, of course, plenty of commentary about my weight, but nothing like that of past years. This is not the kind of thing that would have sparked the establishment of this blog. I'm not sure *why* mom has been more mellow--could be that this was my first visit of the season, rather than the third; could be that I actually made myself useful--not because I hadn't wanted to in past years, but the things that mom needed this time around--canceling a credit card, fixing her old computer, setting up a wireless connection for her new one--actually corresponded to my abilities, unlike writing complaint letters to her tastes. Unlike the past couple of years at least, there was no moment where I wished I had my car so I could just go home. I actually enjoyed spending the week with my parents, and, of course, seeing my friends.Which is not to say that it's not great to be home. I hadn't got to the point where I realized I was craving alone time, but it's good to have it (not only because the idiot Post circulation people continued to deliver the paper while I was away). It's good to have the house to myself (don't even get me started about how great it is not having a roommate), to be on my own schedule, to have access to public transportation, etc. It's crazy how much driving around we did compared to how little I usually do, and we didn't even do that much. But it's a different lifestyle. Driving around Newton, once you get out past the area where my parents live, is insane. The houses are so unnecessary and enormous--not that there's none of that here, but it's probably much farther out. Which reminds me of a conversation we had at dinner on Wednesday night.
Misha: Your mom said your house was okay but that there wasn't a lot of space between houses.
A.: Well, no. I live right in a city.
Misha: We live right in a city, too.
A.: This is more of a suburb.
I'm certainly not hurting for space between houses (I'm attached on one side and have a narrowish space to the side). My parents don't have much space to either side of their house, either. I'm not slamming Misha, or my mother, but it's striking what their expectations are in terms of how much "personal space" an urban house should have.
Anyway, riding around, by car and T, I got to see some beautiful parts of Boston and the surrounding area.
***
We did end up doing some crosswords (and some quizzes) on New Year's Eve. A great line came out of the whole thing, but I can't remember it exactly. At one point, Wendy burst out with, "that's it! we have to learn the months of the Hebrew calendar!"
***
Here are some more pictures from the last month:
Alexandria
Boston area
Summer reading
I have to warn you that the photo accompanying the internet version of this article is really unnecessary. The article, however, is a great read. I'll just excerpt the part about Russia:
In Russia, reading is a favorite national pastime even in the age of biznesmeni, and headings on Web sites like Moi Lyubimi Knizhki (My Beloved Little Books) reflect the earnest Russian passion for letters. Despite the switch to the market economy in the 1990s, which brought pulp fiction to the masses, high-quality literature lives on. Muscovites and St. Petersburgers can be seen on the subways reading classic fiction year-round -- Twain and Tolstoy, Shakespeare and Gogol -- so caught up in their pages that they miss their stops.Spot on, apart from the translation of the website. It's "My Favorite Books," not "My Beloved Little Books," which is just silly. She probably plugged the words into an internet translator, but it wouldn't have been a bad idea to have gotten a Russian speaker to check it. I could go on about how I can see why that translation emerged, but I somehow doubt that you care. I would like to read "Lyudi v Golom," as well as a couple of the French books she mentions later in the review.
And for every Russian you spot reading a cheap edition of Odin Raz Ne Dostatochno (Once Is Not Enough, by Jacqueline Susann), you might see another reading the poems of Anna Akhmatova or the cynical but emotionally charged novels of Sergei Minaev, New Russia's Jay McInerney. In Dukhless (meaning soulless), he presented a coke-dusted portrait of greedy, lustful, aspirational Moscow-in-the-'90s, while in his new novel, R.A.B. (which means slave), he indicts corporate dystopia. Although Meyer's quartet is popular in Russia, too, her books are among the top 50 bestsellers, not the top 10. Minaev's R.A.B. beat the vampires to the dachas, as did Lyudi v Golom (People in the Nude), by Andrei Astvatsaturov, a wry, brainy novel about present-day St. Petersburg intellectuals (Russian critics compare the author to Henry Miller and Woody Allen, his characters to Mikhail Lermontov's cad Pechorin), and The Falcon and the Swallow, the newest installment in a historical-fiction series by Boris Akunin about a detective named Erast Fandorin. (Boris Akunin is a pen name, coined in honor of the revolutionary philosopher Mikhail Bakunin.)
Russians use the word kulturny -- cultured -- more freely and less self-consciously than people in any other country, and they love books that remind them of their country's august imperial and cultural heritage, particularly at the present moment, when national pride is high and when recently attained economic prestige is under threat. One nonfiction book in the Russian top 10, however, points to present practical concerns: Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, in translation. Not content to take refuge in the fantasy of past triumphs, Russians bent on future greatness are reading Outliers to ferret out the secrets to success that Gladwell has unearthed and see if any might work for them.
New Year's Day roundup
In Russia, simulation of satire may be worse than no satire, but it may also be a baby step.
David Brooks reminds us that human institutions are necessarily flawed.
Reflections on end-of-the-world scenarios past, and in general.
David Brooks reminds us that human institutions are necessarily flawed.
Reflections on end-of-the-world scenarios past, and in general.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Board Games 101
Dad: So how many crosswords do you have lined up?
A.: I'm not sure we're doing crosswords. Looks like board games, which is just as fun.
Mom: [rolls her eyes]
A.: Look, you're always complaining about memory loss.
Mom: Oh, I know. I wish I had the disposition for that stuff. What board games?
A.: Don't know. Maybe she has Trivial Pursuit. Or Taboo. Taboo would be fun.
Mom: How do you play that?
A.: You play in teams. One person has a card with a word that the others on his or her team have to guess, as well as words they can't use to help the team figure it out. So if the word were... "cat," the taboo words might be "feline," "pet," "animal," "furry," etc.
Mom: So what would you say?
A.: That's the point. You'd figure out a way to say it. Maybe you'd say "meow."
Mom: Everyone would know "meow."
A.: Well, then that would probably be one of the taboo words.
Mom: So what would you say?
A.: That's the whole point. You'd figure out a way of describing it. I could say, "mine poops on carpets." Neither "poop" nor "carpet" will be on that card, for sure. Or I could say "mine is called Gracie." Or you could list breeds, or say they were revered in Ancient Egypt.
Mom: Oh, that would be interesting.
A.: Exactly. Actually, one or two of my favorite moments of 2009 came out of a game of Taboo, when we were in West Virginia. Allen got the word "poem" and swore in response, then continued to do so to make a poem, and said "...would be a really bad example of one."
Mom: I don't get it.
A.: So his word was "poem." Upon seeing that, he said [in Russian] "hell!" because it was a difficult clue. But then he said "hell hell hell hell hell... would be a really bad example of one." One being, a poem. You had to be there, but it was REALLY funny.
Mom; I don't get it. Why "hell"?
A.: That's just the best translation I can provide right now.
This had to be explained a few more times.
Mom: So what happens when the team guesses right? Points?
A.: Right.
Mom: So?
A.: So, what?
Mom: So then the other team gets points if they guess theirs right?
A.: Right.
Mom: That's it?
A.: Yeah.
Mom: So? What's the point?
A.: It's fun.
Mom: [Shrug]
***
Happy New Year, all!
A.: I'm not sure we're doing crosswords. Looks like board games, which is just as fun.
Mom: [rolls her eyes]
A.: Look, you're always complaining about memory loss.
Mom: Oh, I know. I wish I had the disposition for that stuff. What board games?
A.: Don't know. Maybe she has Trivial Pursuit. Or Taboo. Taboo would be fun.
Mom: How do you play that?
A.: You play in teams. One person has a card with a word that the others on his or her team have to guess, as well as words they can't use to help the team figure it out. So if the word were... "cat," the taboo words might be "feline," "pet," "animal," "furry," etc.
Mom: So what would you say?
A.: That's the point. You'd figure out a way to say it. Maybe you'd say "meow."
Mom: Everyone would know "meow."
A.: Well, then that would probably be one of the taboo words.
Mom: So what would you say?
A.: That's the whole point. You'd figure out a way of describing it. I could say, "mine poops on carpets." Neither "poop" nor "carpet" will be on that card, for sure. Or I could say "mine is called Gracie." Or you could list breeds, or say they were revered in Ancient Egypt.
Mom: Oh, that would be interesting.
A.: Exactly. Actually, one or two of my favorite moments of 2009 came out of a game of Taboo, when we were in West Virginia. Allen got the word "poem" and swore in response, then continued to do so to make a poem, and said "...would be a really bad example of one."
Mom: I don't get it.
A.: So his word was "poem." Upon seeing that, he said [in Russian] "hell!" because it was a difficult clue. But then he said "hell hell hell hell hell... would be a really bad example of one." One being, a poem. You had to be there, but it was REALLY funny.
Mom; I don't get it. Why "hell"?
A.: That's just the best translation I can provide right now.
This had to be explained a few more times.
Mom: So what happens when the team guesses right? Points?
A.: Right.
Mom: So?
A.: So, what?
Mom: So then the other team gets points if they guess theirs right?
A.: Right.
Mom: That's it?
A.: Yeah.
Mom: So? What's the point?
A.: It's fun.
Mom: [Shrug]
***
Happy New Year, all!
Mom gets in some last digs of 2009
Mom: What time are you heading over?
A.: Around 8pm.
Mom: Will that give you enough time for crosswords?
A.: We may opt for boardgames instead.
Later
Dad: What are you doing with all those tomatoes?? Why so many??
A.: [Sigh.]
Dad: Is that for the salad? Salads are supposed to be green.
A.: It is green.
Dad: Who can eat that much salad? Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're not having real food.
A.: Between the [mushroom barley] soup, and the salad, and the lentils, I'll have plenty of food. But if I didn't, I'd rather go hungry than eat basa.
Dad: We have no sour cream.
Mom: I suppose we could use regular cream. [Turning to me] Or is that unhealthy?
A.: The more relevant point is that it adds nothing to the soup.
***
Yesterday
And I admit I deserved this one.
A.: Good job, you parked inside the lines.
Mom: You're such a clisma.
A.: Around 8pm.
Mom: Will that give you enough time for crosswords?
A.: We may opt for boardgames instead.
Later
Dad: What are you doing with all those tomatoes?? Why so many??
A.: [Sigh.]
Dad: Is that for the salad? Salads are supposed to be green.
A.: It is green.
Dad: Who can eat that much salad? Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're not having real food.
A.: Between the [mushroom barley] soup, and the salad, and the lentils, I'll have plenty of food. But if I didn't, I'd rather go hungry than eat basa.
Dad: We have no sour cream.
Mom: I suppose we could use regular cream. [Turning to me] Or is that unhealthy?
A.: The more relevant point is that it adds nothing to the soup.
***
Yesterday
And I admit I deserved this one.
A.: Good job, you parked inside the lines.
Mom: You're such a clisma.
Thursday afternoon
Somehow--and I don't really know how--I set up the wireless connection on Mom's new laptop. And it was after another hour and a half of some variation on this:
Mom: Try [this].
A.: That has nothing to do with it, mom.
Mom: Then try this.
A.: Mom, could you let me concentrate?
Mom: No.
A.: Mom!
Mom: What?!
A.: I need to think.
Mom: Well, think! And I don't like your tone!
A.: Do you want me to set this up or not?
Mom: It's more important that you control your temper!
A.: I'm controlling it. Now let me get back to this.
Mom: Try [this].
A.: That has nothing to do with it, mom.
Mom: Then try this.
A.: Mom, could you let me concentrate?
Mom: No.
A.: Mom!
Mom: What?!
A.: I need to think.
Mom: Well, think! And I don't like your tone!
A.: Do you want me to set this up or not?
Mom: It's more important that you control your temper!
A.: I'm controlling it. Now let me get back to this.
Setting up wireless
A.: So, do you have everything ready?
Mom: No.
A.: Ok, well let me know when you do.
An hour later
A.: Mom, this is a warranty, not instructions. Anyway, let's turn on the laptop.
Later
Mom: It won't open.
A.: You're opening it backwards.
Mom: The writing is right-side up this way.
A.: Right. It opens in the other direction.
Mom: It won't turn on.
A.: Where's the power supply?
Mom: There should be plenty of battery.
A.: They deplete fast, especially stored in the cold.
Mom spends a good hour looking for the power supply.
Finally, we manage to turn on the computer.
A.: Huh.
Mom: What?
A.: It's asking for info other than the network key.
Mom: Do you have the printout I gave you?
A.: Yeah, it has the network key. Let me think for a second.
Mom: We have a mouse so you don't have to deal with the touchpad.
A.: The touchpad is not the problem.
Mom: Why don't you open the network thing?
A.: Mom, stop looking over my shoulder and let me think.
Mom: Fine, think!
But instead, mom keeps talking and making suggestions that don't make sense. That's where we are now.
Mom: No.
A.: Ok, well let me know when you do.
An hour later
A.: Mom, this is a warranty, not instructions. Anyway, let's turn on the laptop.
Later
Mom: It won't open.
A.: You're opening it backwards.
Mom: The writing is right-side up this way.
A.: Right. It opens in the other direction.
Mom: It won't turn on.
A.: Where's the power supply?
Mom: There should be plenty of battery.
A.: They deplete fast, especially stored in the cold.
Mom spends a good hour looking for the power supply.
Finally, we manage to turn on the computer.
A.: Huh.
Mom: What?
A.: It's asking for info other than the network key.
Mom: Do you have the printout I gave you?
A.: Yeah, it has the network key. Let me think for a second.
Mom: We have a mouse so you don't have to deal with the touchpad.
A.: The touchpad is not the problem.
Mom: Why don't you open the network thing?
A.: Mom, stop looking over my shoulder and let me think.
Mom: Fine, think!
But instead, mom keeps talking and making suggestions that don't make sense. That's where we are now.
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