Web Spiders and Louboutin

Over the last month, I’ve been getting a truck load of blog spam. I know, I know, I could add a word verification. But I really hate those. When I see the random combo of numbers and letters, my brain turns the random assortment into real words. “Nmrado” becomes “random” when I type it in. (Yes, this is a great skill in Scrabble and Boggle. Not so much otherwise.) I’ve been known to get an “incorrect” so many times that I thought the system was rigged against me. Now I type those things in with only an index finger so my brain can’t fix it.

The odd thing is that the blog spam comments are only on one blog post. Now I’m sure there’s a sophisticated computer-tech reason that would explain it. Like the HTML code has an embedded 404 compiler error. (Yeah, that probably makes no sense. But I think imps run computers with their evil black magic anyway, which is why the computer always crashes before I remember to save my document on days when I’ve made impressive progress on my novel.)

Anyway, the real reason the post is spammed is that it’s titled “Bob the Criminal Strikes Again.” And the topic of the post was identity theft—someone (Bob the Criminal) filed a fake tax return under my husband’s social security number and tried to get our money. (BTW, the government still hasn’t fixed the problem. But that’s another story.)

So I believe that some criminal syndicate has an evil web crawler (known as web spiders—I love bugs— though not mosquitos or cockroaches, which are pure evil disguised as bugs) searching the web for vulnerable people. And the spider added my blog post because it decided than people who’ve been victims of identity theft are more likely to buy knock off Christian Louboutin shoes or Coach bags because they’ve had their funds sucked dry. But here’s the thing. I really don’t want to wear knock offs of $3000 shoes. (Are the real ones comfortable? Or made out of gold?)

Okay, I just Googled a pair of $3000 suede crystal encrusted open-toed pumps. And I was all prepared to hate them. But, um, they’re really pretty.

Maybe those spiders know what they’re doing after all.  (They're from the Neiman-Marcus website.)

No Air

Mmmm...okay...so it’s not enough that the garbage disposal, dishwasher, washing machine, the van brakes, the stove door, and Ariel’s computer all went kablooey.  And we had to buy a generator after the storms to power the sump pump. Nope, not enough.

On Saturday afternoon, I noticed that the living room was getting hot. Now this isn’t surprising given the fact that the outside temperatures are flirting with 98 and 99 degrees. But it felt too warm for inside. Granted the flue cover on the fireplace isn’t working so I had to shove a piece of heavy duty Styrofoam into the flue to keep the air conditioned coolness inside. The fit wasn’t great, but it couldn’t account for the warmth. So I stood on an air conditioning vent—it was pumping out hot air. I immediately assumed that one of my minions was playing a cruel joke and had turned on the heater...until I checked the thermostat, which was set to cool.

This was bad, very bad. Cal checked the breakers. They had popped. So I was hoping that we’d discovered the problem. We fixed the breakers. And restarted the air conditioner. Then Cal checked the outside unit. He yelled for me to turn off the air conditioner—the outside unit wasn’t working. It smelled like it was burning.

So the temperature inside the house started to rise. Sweat beaded up on our necks and noses. I made the mistake of opening the windows Saturday evening, thinking that the cooler air might drift into the house. Big mistake. The cooler air didn’t drift, but the humidity did. The gauge showed the indoor humidity to be 76%. Yeah, so we live in a swamp. (Thankfully, we have a window air conditioner that Cal put in our bedroom window. The kids sleep on air mattresses on our floor. Everyone except Luke—he’s determined to tough it out and sleep in his room. We think that he’s crazy.)

This morning, I’m waiting for the house to hit 88 degrees. It’s normally at that point that everyone gets irritable. Around 95, everyone gets too hot to be crabby.

We’re waiting for the clock to read 8:00 so we can start calling repair guys. I hope that they aren’t already swamped. In the meantime, my Aunt Judy says that we need to take our “appliance imps” to family planning because they’re reproducing way too quickly. 

Replacement Imp

You may remember I posted about my new washing machine. It’s one of those high efficiency machines. It sings when it starts, and it sings when it’s finished. And when I’m stressed I can watch the clothes spin. Bliss.

However, it has developed a new feature. It leaks. Yes, water on my laundry room floor. Do you know how tired I am of dealing with water issues?! As if the flooding basement issues were not enough. Not to mention backed up pipes, replacement sewer lines, broken water lines...

Of course, it’s not a normal leak issue. The washer doesn’t leak when I’m running it. It leaks when I’m not. Matt said, “Why does this always happen to us?” Yeah, that’s my question too. I considered telling him that it was so we would learn patience. Instead, I told him the imps that run the computers must have talked to the imp that runs the washing machine. And it joined the conspiracy.

So I called LG, the company that makes the washer. They told me to hold up the phone to the washer and push a series of buttons. I did. Then the washing machine imp began talking to the computer imps at the computer service center. It sounded something like this:  Eeeep!  Eooop! Eeeep! Beep! Tweet, twitter! Eeep, eeep!  It was as if the washing machine was channeling R2D2.  Then, I talked to the service tech again. Apparently, the washing machine told the computer that there was nothing wrong with its seals, I hadn’t used too much soap, and all the connections were intact. It may have said some other things like “I’m a rogue washing machine imp who’s trying to drive this woman crazy,” but the tech didn’t share this with me.

Of course, the tech asked me to do a rinse/spin cycle without clothes. I explained again that the washer didn’t leak when I used it, but I humored the tech. And guess what, it didn’t leak. And it didn’t leak when I ran laundry through it yesterday afternoon. But when I got up this morning, a puddle of water surrounded my machine like an infernal halo.

I called the tech again. They wanted the washer to do the R2D2 thing again. Which it did. And, apparently, everything is fine and dandy with my machine. They’re sending out a repair person Friday, which is good. I just hope they bring a replacement imp. Mine has been corrupted.

Computer Imps

I know there are many of you out there who think computers are run by Microsoft via Windows, or Apple, or Linnux, or some other operative system that I’m not familiar with. But you are all wrong. (Yes, I sympathize with the Luddite movement.) The rumors have been flying for a while, but I found out the truth. Computers are run by imps. And Bill Gates’s “discovery” was not how to buy an operating system and make it work better. No, his “discovery” was how to capture and force miniature imps to do his bidding. The problem is that miniature imps are a peculiar kind of devil. They do their job (they’re chained to the mother board) most of the time. Some speculate that when they use their magic properly to make things appear on the screen, then, as a reward, they receive a shock to the pleasure sensors in their brain. Sounds reasonable.

But my interest is when the imp’s true nature asserts itself and the system runs haywire. You see eventually the imp gets bored with electrical heroin, and he (they’re all male) uses his powers for evil. This is when things get interesting. For example, you’re happily editing your novel, and then the system crashes. Bloop, blink, gone. Of course, you reboot your system. Then the imp presents you with two choices. Do you want the recovered document or the saved document? Hmm. I don’t know, do you? In the end, it doesn’t matter both are now flawed and the choice is illusory. And the errors are hidden in your 300 page novel—you’ll never find them, but the literary agent who requests it will read things like “And then, Miranda loaded her Uzi with a new round of ammo and took out all the literary agents in a three mile radius.” That’s imp humor. It also gets your book tossed into the rubbish more quickly than a New York minute.

I see your skepticism. But what else explains the blue screen of death. Or, my experience yesterday on tech support. I’m “chatting” with Rocco (chatting is a misnomer since we’re both typing). And Rocco is no Italian. Rocco clearly cannot communicate in English very well. There are missing words in his sentences—important things like verbs, articles, etc. Not to mention the misspellings. Plus, the speed with which Rocco types clearly indicates that he’s never completed Typing Tutor or Mavis Beacon’s Typing version 7. At any rate, Rocco takes me into the bowels of my computer. And we delete things. Deleting always makes me nervous—it seems akin to chopping off an arm. But, hey, Rocco told me to (I know, if Rocco told me to jump off a cliff…) After we finish our “session” and he explains what a wonderful, blessed, “powerful” customer I am, he tells me to shut down my computer, reboot, and everything will be peachy keen. Sure, right. I do it. Except, when I reboot, nothing has changed. My computer still misbehaves and ignores my pleas.

I accept this—after all, this is what happens more often than not. But then, today, for no apparent reason, my computer decided to be obedient. Why? The only explanation is the imp. And I think I figured out what happened. Yesterday, on tech support, the tech “told” the imp to get his act together or they were going to cut off his electrical heroin. The imp said, “So what?” But then, as he went into withdrawals, he decided that it was better to simply obey the requests of the laptop user—voila, my computer works again. It’s the only explanation. Really!