Anyway, I've been struggling with my blu-ray player for the last two hours, and I'm pretty frustrated and also sneezing like crazy due to allergies (due to not dusting my blu-ray player, evidently), so I'm not in the right mental state to tackle the iCloud. Also, I just watched The Big Sleep for the fifty-seventh time.
My Blu-Ray Player Takes a Dive
(intended to be read in a fake Bogart accent)
10:33pm: It's a pleasant evening in this dark, suburban neighborhood, but not everyone is sleeping comfortably. Having failed, once again, to brew a sleeping draught on Pottermore, I decide that I need some inspiration.
10:35pm: I belt my robe firmly and approach the Bookshelf of DVDs. Yeah, it has a few blu-rays, but we're still pretty old school at this establishment. On the right night, in the glow of the nightlight, you might even catch a glimpse of a VHS tape slouching in its worn case, dreaming about better days.
10:38pm: There it is. It wasn't a great television series. Only lasted one season. Still, it suits my mood. After a workshop on diversity during the day, a night's pleasure with the first tv series to feature an African American superhero is right up my alley. I pull M.A.N.T.I.S. off the shelf and pour us both a nice tall glass of raspberry iced tea. No sugar.
10:42pm: The pillows are fluffed, the alarm is set, and it's time to get lost in the adventures of Ocean City's finest. I grab the remote and press the power button. Nothing happens.
10:43pm: I press the button again. No dice.
10:45pm: Time to pull the plug. Apparently, this cheap blu-ray player gets lost in its own mixed signals. Happens to me too after a long committee meeting. A lights-out move will reset it most of the time, so I bite the bullet and pull out the cord.
10:46pm: Stick the plug back in firmly, no screwing around. The blue lights on the front of the bum machine flicker to life, and I give a grunt of satisfaction. I like talk; words are my business. But sometimes a gal has to speak with her fists. I grab the remote.
10:48pm: Before I can hit the open button, it's lights out again. The power button brings no joy. Nada. I'm pretty sure I've got a stiff on my hands, and while I own the shovel to bury the body out back, the deceased's got disc two of Witchblade stuck in its maw, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let it go to the hereafter holding on to what's mine.
10:52pm: Internet. Sure, it's a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but where else am I gonna get tech advice this time of night? I open the google and start my search for an expert. And I'm not bothering with background checks, if you take my meaning.
11:04pm: Cyberspace is littered with dicks. No, I don't mean penises, but private dicks like myself, searching for one solid lead to save their stuck dvds. I'm not the worst off, either. I can hear the voices of the truly desperate, those poor schmucks whose kids have jammed peanut butter sandwiches into top of line machines. Yeah, I could have it worse, alright, me with my cheap blu ray player and bad sf programs. I wish I could say it makes me feel grateful, but it just makes me long for that iced tea.
11:21pm: About to give up, I finally hit gold: on-line instructions for using a paperclip to get the player to open. I try not to get too excited.
11:25pm: Set back. There are no paperclips in this joint. Not one. I try an earring, a pen and a flattened straw before I realize I'm barking up the wrong tree. Time to try something else.
11:30pm: I send a message to the manufacturer. Naturally, it's not the kind with a 24-hour help line. I get a receipt telling me I should get a response within 48 hours. Too late to help this headache. I wonder for a minute what it must be like to be able to afford paid tech support, but my imagination's just not that good. The gin and tonic takes the edge off, but I'm still superhero-less on a Wednesday night. It starts to rain.
11:40pm: I'm getting used to disappointment, and I e-mail Kim...you'll remember Kim, right? She made me start this blog, but she's a good kid in spite of that...anyway, as I was sayin', I e-mail Kim because she has one hell of a media set up at her place. Real classy. Rosemary's Baby never looked so good. I don't figure I'll get any help tonight, but maybe she can set me on the path of a better machine. If I can come up with dough, of course.
11:52pm: I figure I'll give it one more shot. Sleep don't come easy on nights like this, so there's not much to lose. I pull the plug again and get ready to be disappointed.
11:55pm: Here goes nothin. I reconnect the cord, watch for the lights, and aim the remote, hoping against hope things don't go sideways this time. The lights flicker off, and I use language I learned from my dear sweet mother. Nope, not please or thank you; mama's a gem, but not everything she taught me's appropriate for mixed company.
11:57pm: The lights suddenly come on again, and I grab the remote like its the last set of bluebooks during finals week. I punch it, and the drawer slides open. I don't know what happened or why, but that's not important right now. M.A.N.T.I.S. awaits, and my tea is getting warm.
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