My SoundDock still doesn't work. I sent it back to the factory and they wiped it down with a paper towel, put it in a box and shipped it back to me. It arrived on our front porch yesterday.
It's not crackling and popping anymore but there is a very loud hiss in the background. I'm going to assume if I call Bose they're going to tell me that it's a problem with my iPod.
I'll get to the bottom of it, eventually. In the mean time there will be hissing.
Later on Tuesday evening Julia decided to destroy the last page of a book Allie's kindergarten teacher had created. Each page included a photo of and art by every kid in the class. It's the kind of rare, irreplaceable documentation of one of the sweetest, most fleeting periods in a child's life that deserves to be handled with white cotton gloves. So it's no surprise we left it in the hands of a human paper shredder.
Julia made quick work of the page that featured all the comments from other parents. I spent twenty minutes trying to match up other parents' handwriting then taping the shredded paper together with the smallest pieces of Scotch tape I could manage to pull off the dispenser. There wasn't much I could do about all the ink scribbles.
I imagine living with Julia is what it would be like to have a chimpanzee in the house only with less charm, a little less hair (we'll address this in another post), a larger vocabulary and greatly diminished upper body strength.
As annoying as this was, it wasn't as bad as when my motorcycle hit the curb on Saturday. It went over on its side. The fall broke off the end of the brake lever and severely scratched the tank. You see, I left the motorcycle running in the street in front of the house to warm up while I went inside to kiss all three girls goodbye. The kickstand was positioned outside the gutter. I'm sure a car went by and the resulting breeze was enough to knock over my bike.
It's fine, really; just not as pristine as it once was. Plus, I wasn't on the thing when it fell over and now I know how to park my bike. Debbie said this, "It's your first bike. These things are going to happen." Her words were a nice poultice. Not just because she let me know she understood how much my dumbass parking mishap bothered me, but because she said this is my first bike meaning she's fully prepared for my second or perhaps even third bike.
I'm already shopping.
And then it started to snow last night. Actually it was a cold, wet rain that aspired to become snow but just didn't have enough ambition. Tonight it found some chutzpah and we've got a couple of inches.
I decided I'd better start winterizing all the small motors in the garage. I sucked all the gas out of the lawn mower and worked on the snow blower for an hour to get it started. After pouring gas into the carburetor for the fifth time I finally got it started. In the process I found myself covered in gas. I can't get the smell out of my skin. I used dishwashing liquid, scented soap and even toothpaste.
It won't go away.
I've decided the only thing I can do is a controlled burn. I'll set myself on fire in the shower and hopefully I'll have the presence of mind to put myself out.
I wonder what I'll look like without eyebrows.