The Junk Drawer

So I noticed last night that my car’s left headlight burned out. No problem. I got this.

I’ve changed out the bulb in the right headlight all by myself before. In fact, I’d be surprised if you didn’t hear about that because I told everyone by all means of communication how awesome I was, for like six months after.

So now I get to be awesome all over again.

I drove to my local AutoZone and told the sales guy what I needed – a single bulb for a 2000 Honda Civic LX.

He checks the database for the kind I need and then takes me over to the bulb aisle.

He explains that I can’t buy the exact bulb as a single, since they’re out of singles. He tells me I can either buy a pair of them, an option I decline, or I can buy a bulb that’s similar, but somewhat brighter than the one I really need.

I tell him I don’t want a bulb that’s more intense than the other.

He says “Don’t worry, it’s not one of those really bright ones that blind other drivers.”

I said “No, you don’t understand. I know it’s not the screaming bright ones. But I’ll know that it’s slightly brighter than the right side and that will bother me.”

“Bother you how?”

“Bother me because I’m OCD.”

“But you won’t see that they’re different while you’re driving.”

“But I’ll know they are different.”

“But you don’t have to care because you’re not the one looking at them.”

“But I’ll care. I’ll just care.”

He stared a hole through my forehead, which ended the conversation right then and there.

I thanked him and left immediately, in search of another auto parts store that sells singles of the bulb I need.

I found one and here it is:

I don’t remember the last bulb I got having a nipple on it. I was just about to ask the sales guy “Why does this headlight have a nipple? Am I supposed to take the nipple off?” but thought better of it.

One ridiculous conversation at an auto parts store is plenty for today.

I’ll just Google it because Google doesn’t judge me for the stupid questions I ask.

Wish me luck replacing my nipple bulb!

Many of you know I’m in Savannah, Georgia this week. Havin’ a great time, but I just know I’ve gained 12 pounds or so. Not sure I’ll fit into any of the clothes I brought with me for the flight home. I might have to fly there naked.

Yes, I would feel awkward, but that’s not all together different than I felt flying here, as I was the recipient of a very personal pat down at my local airport after failing to get through a metal detector because I stupidly wore clothing with metal built into it.

You don’t want a pat down at the airport. In front of people. By someone wearing latex gloves. Who’s not afraid to put hands where you generally don’t want hands to be in an airport in front of people.

Anyway, today’s agenda included a visit to two sites featured in the movie Forrest Gump. One of them was the building where they filmed the opening scene (from its rooftop), where the feather floated through the air and landed at Tom Hanks’ sneaker while he sat on a bus stop bench.

The other site I wanted to see was where the bench was located. Both were in or near Chippewa Square.

I knew from earlier research that the bench was built specifically for the movie, constructed of fiberglass, and relocated afterward to the Savannah History Museum.

But what I wanted to see was the exact spot where the bench sat for the filming.

Could I find it on my own? No.

Was there a marker for it? No.

Savannah, get on that, OK?

But, curiously, there was a tour group of people standing around this thing. Taking pictures of it, with a tour guide talking at length about it out of earshot.

Every person standing around it took a picture from the top down. It had to be something. Surely, you wouldn’t take a picture of something so boring as a concrete post unless there was some history behind it, right?

When the crowd cleared, I ran over and yelled to Dave “It must be something! It has to be it! It’s an important marker!”

“I think it’s just a post,” replied Dave.

“But everyone took pictures of it! I have to take a picture of it! I’ll find out later what it is,” I insisted.

Did I ever find out what it was? No.

Did I ever find out where the bench did sit for the movie? Yes. I asked a pedicab driver where it was, but was too embarrassed to also ask if there was significance to the post.

You know, because I didn’t want him to tell me I was as dumb as one.

For the record, here’s where the bench sat.

And for you trivia buffs, they had to reverse traffic around the square for the movie. Normally it runs counter clockwise, but they needed the bus door to open at the sidewalk. This meant forcing traffic clockwise for the duration of filming.

If anyone knows what that concrete post signifies, there’s a reward in it for you if you tell me.

Hey, peeps! I know. It’s been forever since I’ve written.

One of my excuses is that I’m on vacation this week in beautiful Savannah, Georgia.

I’ve already shared this on Facebook, but it’s too good to not also share here.

This is the sign that our driver held up at the airport when we landed. I really don’t understand how spell-check didn’t pick up the myriad mistakes, or how anyone who has eyeballs in their head wouldn’t catch any of it.

My friend Jeff Lee is worried that perhaps the driver meant to do this and she really was looking for a Karthleen Ffrederck and Karthleen is still back at the airport waiting for her ride. Hee.

My mother, God bless her, has failing eyesight. She’s not a TV-watching person, never has been. But she loves her books. Devours them. And that’s the problem.

It’s harder and harder for her to get through a book due to her eyesight. So I’m working on a project where I scour the web for interesting articles for her to read.

I copy the text into Word and then jack up the font so she can see the words much easier.

The fun part is finding things I think she’d like to read. It’s easy for me because she and I have exactly the same taste in books.

Off-beat non-fiction.

I was talking to a librarian colleague of mine this afternoon and told her about my mission. I asked her if she ran across articles that met the criteria, could she send me the links so I could make them bigger and print them out.

To help her, I gave her an example of an article I already found that mom would love.

I told her it was on the topic of lucid decapitation.

“Have you ever heard of it?” I asked.

“Um. No,” she said.

“Well, it’s when someone’s head is chopped off, it’s possible for the head to keep reacting to stimuli, like being shouted at, for up to 30 seconds. The head’s eyes will get bigger in response before shutting,” I told her.

“Are you sure your mother wants to read that?” she asked.

“Of course. She’s just like me and I’m totally into an article about heads that can still do stuff after being detached from the body,” I insisted.

“Well, OK then.”

I’m certain you lovely readers would be interested too, so “head” on over to Lucid Decapitation and read all about the 1836 murderer who promised to wink after getting his head chopped off, but didn’t.

Jerk.

p.s. If you guys have things you think my mom would like to read, drop the links in the comments.

Gruesome is optional.

You know how I’m always doing monumentally stupid things?

Well, pull up a chair and let’s talk about last weekend.

One of my TV remote controls has a label stuck to the back of it. The label gradually began peeling away and left glue behind that stuck to my fingers as I channel surfed.

Of course, this annoyance had to be solved immediately and without forethought.

For the record, we have a second remote that did the same thing, one where I successfully removed the sticky residue by scrubbing it with a damp SOS pad. All smooth. No glue. Life was happy.

But for this remote, and for reasons unknown, I decided to scrub it directly under a stream of water. Water seeped into the bowels of the remote, which of course rendered it useless.

Dumbass.

I cursed my stupidity, removed the batteries and pointed a hair dryer at it for five minutes. This didn’t help, so I gave up and set it on a windowsill to let a breeze run over it all night.

Twenty four hours later, I picked it up and noticed that pressing some buttons illuminated them and I thought “Eureka! It’s dry!”

However.

Pointing it at the TV and pressing buttons resulted in nothing. It was still working in a broken kind of way.

It occurred to me that since I’d given my remote a bubble bath, I might need to reprogram it to work again with my DVR and TV.

Enter “Remote Control Manual for Synergy V.” Now just go look at that thing. It’s like 40 pages long and I was already tired and ready for bed.

But I had a manual and a mission and so I set out to fix this bastard.

According to the Manual from Hell, you have to enter certain codes for your model of DVR and TV. They give you several possible codes and if one doesn’t work, you try another until you get a match.

Within minutes, I successfully reprogrammed the DVR, the TV and the audio, which meant I could channel surf again.

However, I still couldn’t call up the list of recorded shows. I also couldn’t record anything new.

And so I did what stupid people do and go all Angry Birds on the buttons, press something really wrong and now we have no joy on the TV.

Only a message that reads “No Signal.”

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I was so close, yet in a moment of keypad frenzy, I ruined all the progress I’d made.

And so I was left with the option no one wants. Ever.

I was going to have to call RCN cable tech support.

I dial, make my way through a maze of options and then hear something that makes me cry.

“All of our operators are busy. Your approximate wait is 20 minutes.”

I listen to horrible little RCN jingles and advertisements for services I don’t want for what feels like an eternity.

Eventually a nice man gets on the line and I tell him how dumb I was by cleaning an electronic device with actual liquid and would he kindly save me from myself.

Our goal was to get a signal to the TV and he sends reset instructions to my DVR, but this does nothing because the problem isn’t with the DVR.

It’s with the TV itself.

He has me walk over to the TV and look for a menu with Input on it somewhere. I start pressing buttons haphazardly and he asks me to slow down and tell him what’s going on.

I work in tech support and I’m surprised at how spastic and uncooperative I’ve become. Chillax, Kathy!

And so I slow down.

I press Menu and see Input listed as an option. But there’s no “Set” or “Enter” button that lets me lock anything in.

Tech Guy doesn’t know what to tell me because he can’t see what I’m seeing and I just know I’m explaining things to him like a three-year-old.

Button not go isn’t work what the can’t set help me waaaaahhhh!

Meanwhile, my husband is calling me from my cell phone and keeps beeping into the call. There’s no way I’m answering it.

I’m not about to risk a hang-up on Tech Support Guy, who is right now the most important man in my life.

I email my sister and tell her to call Dave and ask that he stop calling me, as I’m in tech support hell.

She writes back and says she couldn’t reach him and left a message.

I email her again. He’s not going to listen to voice mail! It’s my phone! Call him again until you reach him!!! He keeps beeping in!!!

Tech Support Guy is still mystified why I’m getting no signal on the TV, but I’m happy now that the incessant Dave beeping has finally stopped.

I return to the set and start pressing buttons again, but this time I realize that if I choose HDMI-1 and wait a beat, then it sets to that option.

A football game appears on the screen. Yippee!

I run through all the resets again on the remote, codes galore, but then I surf and realize I have no HD channels.

I report this new misery to Tech Guy and he sends another reset to the DVR. At once, all my pre-recorded shows display, I can record new shows again and all the HD channels are back.

Halleluiah!

We share some laughs and I thank him profusely. I ask him if he’s close by and if he is, I’d like to come over and give him a hug. He is duly creeped out.

As we prepare to end the call, I ask him if he could please fix something that bugs me in the Manual from Hell.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Well, every place where there should be an “its” is spelled wrong. There’s an apostrophe where it doesn’t belong,” I report. “It’s full of wrong “its”!”

Dead. Silence.

“Hello?” I say.

“Uh. Yeah, well, um. The people from the remote control company wrote that manual, and they just gave it to us to post. We can’t fix it,” he replies.

I reluctantly accept the fate of the manual. I’m sad that it will remain forever incorrect, but then I count my blessings because I have a TV signal and all systems are go. Gotta pick your battles, right?

Tech Support Guy prepares to jettison me off this phone call so he can tell all his co-workers about this stupid woman who washed her remote control and who also happens to be a Grammar Nazi.

You just don’t get calls like that every day, and if you’re in tech support, nor do you want to.