Out of the blue the other day, Eileen asked me how many of the places I’ve lived in did I ever have to break into. I was surprised when, upon thinking it over, I discovered that I’ve broken into almost all of the places I’ve lived. Working backwards: this house, yeah, I think; Ecuador, yep; Princeton dorm, I think so; Oakland Ave., not possible, really; Knickerbocker St., yeah; Seattle, I don’t remember; Gorham St., definitely; Jefferson St., definitely; Madison St., I’m pretty sure; UW dorm, yep; Cornell dorm, no; parents’ house, yes.
I had a reoccurring dream when I was staying in Fort Collins back when I was training for Olympic trials in 2000. We were in a pretty suburban area, and I began dreaming of the neighborhood, which was a lot like any other sub-division in the US. It was certainly similar to many Mequon sub-divisions: Lac du Cour, Ville du Parc, etc.
In the dreams, I would enter a random house. I think the first night I dreamt about it, all I did was go into the stanger’s house momentarily and then leave. But of course, there was this emotion that went along with it — a sort of thrill since there was a risk of being caught. Well then, my dreaming mind caught onto that feeling and took it to the next level. I began walking through the homes. Most times, I’d sneak behind people watching TV or some such thing. I’d wake up absolutely exhilirated by these dreams — I mean, to the point where I actually considered doing it for real. I thought, “you could always just apologize and run if you got caught.” I’m sure I would have been safe. Most people don’t take a weapon with them to the couch. And chances are I wouldn’t have walked in on a guy cleaning a gun or something. But I never really got the courage to do it.
Today, our keyboard started randomly shifting so that iN tHE MIDDLE OF TYPING, EVERYTHING YOU WROTE BECAME ALL CAPS. I tried cleaning it thoroughly, which fixed the problem for about ten minutes. But then tHE PROBLEM RETURNED. I tried repeatedly tapping the shift keys to get the glitch worked out since in my experience, hitting machines often does work. And it actually did work. Kinda. I’d test out the keys by doing this: fgfgfgfgfgfgfgfgf. And it would be good for about twenty keystrokes, and then it would do this: fgfgfgfGFGFGFGFGFGFGFgfgfgFGFGFgfgfGFGFgfGFgfGFGfgFGFGFGFGF. SO THEN I GAVE UP AND GOT OUT THE OLD KEYBOARD.
YES, WE HAVE AN OLD KEYBOARD. IT’S THE ONE MY BROTHER TED SPILLED COKE ON AND WHICH APPLE THEN REPLACED FOR FREE WHEN WE CALLED THEM TO REPORT HOW IT DIDN’T WORK. I’VE KEPT IT IN THE BASEMENT ALL THESE YEARS JUST IN CASE OUR NEW KEYBOARD BEGAN DOING SOMETHING LIKE THIS.
So I plugged in the old one and tested out the keys. They all work except for the last letter in the alphabet, which I can’t type right now since I’m using the old one. Luckily, that’s not a very common letter to use. I’ve typed this whole entry without once having to use it. Once, I was gonna write the more colloquial form of the word because, but I couldn’t since the last letter of the alphabet doesn’t exist on this keyboard.
I informed Eileen that our current problem would necessitate the purchase of a wireless keyboard and mouse plus the needed Bluetooth adaptor for the computer. It would only cost a total of $120 or so. But she argued me out of that logical decision and pointed out that just because we needed a replacement didn’t mean we needed to upgrade. Damn her reasoning! In the male world, replacement = upgrade. In Eileen’s world, upgrade = $100 more than is necessary.
Our boats came this past Thursday. I went down to the UW boathouse to pick them up and . . . aw hell, I don’t feel like telling the whole whiney story. Here’s the short version: we have the wrong boats. Completely wrong boats were delivered to us, so we can’t row in them and we’re getting the real boats (ie. the ones we ordered) sometime late next week, which, translated, means either September 27th or October 3rd.
Classes at school are beginning to take on some personalities. They’re looking good. But I tell ya, I’m not used to 50 minute periods. They go by pretty fast compared to the two hour classes I had in Ecuador. I feel like I’m not getting much done in that amount of time. Teenagers are also an odd bunch, eh? I knew this, of course, but the past week has just been a large reminder. The scariest thing is that I can already sense that I’ll be used to it in another week or two.
One of my narcissistic fantasies about returning to school involved befriending all the Spanish-speaking students with my Latino culture hipness. That one died a quick death. Teacher equals unhip, to begin with, and then there’s the fact that I don’t speak Spanish as well as many other teachers do. And we’re in the USA, where teenagers are cooler than everybody else.
Eileen’s also started with school. So far, she’s very unimpressed. We were gonna post a comparison between SECAP, the hole-in-the-wall school I worked at in Ecuador (where I kicked in my office door), and the UW Madison Doctorate Program in Audiology; but again, it’s a long, whiney story. The short version: they’re both really disorganized; they both cancel classes without telling people; they’re both run by men named Fernando (not really); and nobody really knows what’s going on at either place.
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