Broken window. Termites.
Seized engine. Return of the ex-pat. Nice weather we're
having. Well except that it's too hot. I'm sweating just
pounding the keyboard. Well, pounding isn't quite the
right word as Visio 2003 is so slow running on Virtual PC
on my iBook that it's like to talking to the ex-pat on a
sattellite phone. The drag and drop command has to go to
Mars first. Why,you may ask, am I running Virtual PC on
the iBook when I have this brand spanking new faster than
lightening and twice as bright G5 sitting on the floor
under my desk? Well, see when the antique PowerMac 7600
finally gave up the ghost, days before I started this
contract with my fellow Cosmodemonic Telecomm alumni, I
naturally bought the biggest, bestest, fastest, newest
Macintosh I could get. This is a great thing, except that
we all decided that Visio was the best thing to use for
the drawings since I had already been using it at the
Starship and they were familiar with it. So silly me, I
went out and bought Visio 2003 and came home to load
Virtual PC onto the G5 and then install Visio. Oops.
Virtual PC don't play that. Yet. Had I but read that
beforehand... So it was back to the mall to the Apple
store for the most memory you can pack into a G3 iBook
(the white one). This is the first time anybody has ever
asked "what color is it?" to determine hardware upgrade
compatibility. Live and learn, So, here I am drag and
dropping Visio shapes at a rhythm that resembles not
quite watiing long enough on the knuckleball.
Aiiieeiiiieee!
That and I'm waiting for the third
guy I've contacted to replace the basement window. Window
guys don't want to do only one window and handymen don't
want to do windows.... so meanwhile when the first two
guys didn't pan out I had taped a screen over the outside
of the window since Pajama Woman is convinced that
vermin, especially those giant concrete-eating rats, are
getting into my basement and invading hers. I had boarded
up the broken part some time ago and the wood was
starting to rot, but it was still impentrable to skunks,
raccoons, turkey vultures, starlings... until unbeknownst
to me Pajama Woman had removed the screen, which was a
tad too large for the window and hence needed to be
retaped periodically, and replaced it with a smaller
screen less than half the size of the window AND she had
removed the semi-rotting board leaving a gaping hole in
the window plenty big enough for skunks, raccoons, turkey
vultures, starlings, and domestic animals to enter my
basement. None did except a small gray tabby cat who
immediately left the building as soon as he'd entered. So
there's this gaping hole and window guy #3 is over an
hour late and hasn't called. He never does show up, at
least not by midnight. Grrr.
Meanwhile, the other day Pajama
Woman called me from work twice to tell me she had had a
termite swarm in her basement. It terrified her. She's
convinced the building is infested with termites. It's
not clear to me whether she thinks they too came in
through the window, especially since where she saw them
was in the front of the building where her basement abuts
the Russians' basement. She ordered me to go to my
basement and check for swarms or other evidence of
termites at midmorning when they are most likely to
swarm. I did so, twice. No evidence of termites. When the
termite inspectors finally came, they only looked in her
basement and they found the termite mound or mud hut or
whatever they live in across the way near the front lawn
of the complex. No evidence of infestation in our
building. The termite exterminators will fumigate the mud
hut where the termites live. Pajama woman accosted me
this evening saying she didn't believe the termite
inspector and was going to demand that the condo
association exterminate our building anyway. Oh joy. I'd
better start looking for a hotel that allows
cats.
Fear of Pajama Woman, whom I fear
more than termites, is nothing compared to fear of the
ridicule and disdain of my family. So it was with
trepidation that I approached the family gathering
celebrating the Return of the Ex-Pat and Mother's Day
driving the rental car I've had since the camshaft on the
non-Auntmobile (aka the Green Machine) seized on the way
home from Stop and Shop (big sale on broccoli rabe). You
see, anyone raised by my Dad knows the importance of
regular oil changes, not to mention the perils and
pitfalls of letting a car sit for 3 months without being
driven and then driving around on that stagnant oil for
months procrastinating. Dad is officially rolling over in
his grave. Meanwhile, after discussion with the Honda
Barn, I decided to replace the whole engine rather than
just the top half (the camshaft). They, the Honda Barn,
concurred in my decision despite its not making any more
money for them. The "new" engine is used but has about
1/3 the mileage on the old one. As a precaution, I am
also having them replace the timing belt since the "new"
engine, though low mileage, is a 1997 (same year as the
non-Auntmobile). So except for Thomas, to whom I had
confessed on the phone, the familia loca didn't notice
right away that the green car we arrived in was not the
dented green Honda Accord but an equally green Chevy
Malibu. I would have gotten away with it, except that as
we were all leaving at the same time, the Beach Boys
noticed and asked if I'd bought a new car. Caught! I had
to confess. All present tell me Dad is rolling over in
his grave. I know, darn it, I heard him!
Let it be noted that the Mother's
Day and Return of the Ex-Pat festivities were held on the
eve of Mother's Day so that Thomas could take the
aforementioned Ex-Pat (Washington doesn't begin with B so
the BiB abbreviation may have to be retired) and Szilvia
to the Red Sox game. When asked what he liked best about
being back in the USA, the Ex-Pat replied "Pork and
wine." To which I responded "What kind of wine goes with
Fenway Franks?" This is Szilvia's first baseball game, an
important initiation into both American and Egan family
culture. And it occurred to both Nancy and me that
Hungarians should make natural Red Sox fans since all
their monuments are to battles they lost. If Budapest
ever gets an MLB team, it would have to be on the lines
of the Red Sox or the Hanshin Tigers. A non-cursed team
just wouldn't work in Budapest.
Andrea was talking about the series
finale of Friends (TV is her passion now and I fully
expect a sitcom based on the adventures of an extremely
weird and unmature New England family to hit the airwaves
once she graduates middle school) and the Ex-Pat had no
idea what were were talking about. He'd never seen a
single episode. We all suddenly realized that he'd been
living outside the country the entire time Friends was on
the air. Think of it. In the time friends has been on the
air there've been wars in Bosnia, Kossovo, Serbia, and
all those Balkan places and in Afghanistan and in Iraq.
Am I missing any wars that overlapped the run of Friends?
Oh and Haiti, twice. Yikes! Is there a bible verse
somewhere about "Sitcoms you will always have with
you?"
Gee, with all these family
gatherings lately, it suddenly seems strange that the
next scheduled one is not until the Beach Boys' wedding
on June 12. Should we invite Governor I've Got Great Hair
and Live in Utah? Should we invite the bishop who
desperately needs a dictionary? Naw. There'll be family
values and feminists all over the place. Why break the
mood? Nancy and I are still designing our Massachusettes
Supreme Judicial Court sandcastle in anticipation. La
Familia Loca lives family values all day every
day.
Another gay feminist for family
values...
