There's nothing like waiting for 15 minutes for coffee to brew, to make you appreciate the speed of modern life.
This morning, I woke up to the lights at quarter-power and dimming. At first, I had just walked into the bathroom and flipped on the vanity lights and thought, well phoo, I’ll have to actually replace those now that more than one bulb is burnt out. (I’m kinda casual with priorities sometimes. I know people who would be sent into screaming fits if one of four lightbulbs burnt out; and they’d have to replace it immediately. Nope. Not me. That thing’s been burnt out for about nine months now, and I haven’t gotten around to figuring out what types of bulbs those vanity lights use, let alone doing something as productive as actually buying new bulbs. Heaven forbid I move too fast on this.) Then I went out to the kitchen to feed the cats, and noticed that the stove- and nuker-clocks were both dimmed.
The first thought that went through my head was, Dammit, why didn’t I get all those blackout supplies Friday, the day after we had our last storm-induced blackout? The second thought that went through my head was, Please don’t let all the stuff in my refrigerador go bad; I don’t want to have to replace the milk and butter yet again. Hard on the heels of those two thoughts was the really important one: Crap, can I still make coffee?
According to the electric company’s 24 hour hotline, they were aware of the problems in my area, and it was due to faulty equipment. They estimated that they’d have the thing repaired sometime in a two-hour window. Not too shabby, considering all the power failures and storm damage we’ve been getting; but it did mean that I was staring down the barrel of a potentially powerless New Year’s Eve.
I planned what I wanted out of the refrigerator (frozen waffles from the freezer, filtered-water pitcher, tiny tub of coffee grounds that I didn’t use yesterday), opened ‘er up, got everything out, and closed the door to keep in the cold. Then I put the waffles in the toaster, prepped the coffeemaker, and hit the On button.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I did eventually hear the coffeemaker gurgling and plopping, which is the sound it normally emits, so I figured I’d do okay there. I wasn’t seeing the toaster’s usual cheerful orange glow, though I could feel heat coming up from the toasting vents. It took 15 minutes before the first cup of coffee was ready, and while it wasn’t cold it wasn’t as hot as it usually is, either. Eventually the I wandered over to check on what the toaster was doing with itself, only to find a pair of saggy, burned-on-top and hard-as-rocks Eggo blueberry waffles inside.
Apparently, positive results with frozen waffles cannot achieved through slow cooking. (See? Now we know. You can find the good in every situation, if you squint hard enough and [when things are truly challenging] get hopped up on sugar or eat the special mushrooms.)
I got dressed, made my list, and went out to get batteries, a battery-backup alarm clock that would actually sound the alarm when on battery-backup power, an AC adaptor for the wee tiny unitasker MP3 player, a larger CD storage solution (with rearrangeable pages, dangit), some kind of book-light, and more candles. I also decided to buy some fuzzy socks; because I know from experience that if my feet are cold, I can stagger beneath more layers than Nanook of the North - I’ll still be cold. I found all the goodies, headed home, and put on the fuzzy socks. When I saw them on the rack, they were the last of precisely two pairs of fuzzy socks (showing that I don’t have an original idea in my head, and that I move too slowly). Bright deep blue, and fuzzier than a French-terry towel with the frizzies, they at least promised to keep my feet warm — and were under four dollars, so yay. When I put them on, though, I realized why they had been left for last.
When wearing these socks, I have Grover feet.
I wear a size 10 shoe (size 42, for you European readers; size 8 1/2, for the folks from Australia), so I’ve never had delusions of delicate tiny tootsies. To look at my feet and immediately think of a Muppet, though…? That’s just a new level of sad.
I am listening to 136, by MIDIval PunditZ, on infinite repeat tomorrow while I rip my CDs to MP3 and move them onto my new MP3 player (in preparation for Tuesday, when I must go back in to face the silly solipsoidal hell that is The Current Contract Job), and rearrange my CD collection endlessly. And *finally* have a place to put all the new discs I’ve acquired over the past year.
Keywords: | technology | home | Holidailies |
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