Speak of the Devil

So here I am on another Sunday morning, sitting in front of the computer, wondering what the day will bring. I have taken to intentionally not making plans on Sundays in an effort to “be with myself,” as Anita puts it. Not that I won’t end up calling a friend or getting a call from a friend and going out somewhere, but today is set aside for focusing on myself. Several of my good friends have intimated to me that in this time, I can work on some sort of rediscovery of myself, but I rather look at it like an exploration of what I know is already there.

I have always loved tinkering with computers, and haven’t really done much with mine since a) I moved to my current abode and am again on a shitty dial-up connection (sorry, AOL, it’s not really your fault), and b) I haven’t spent that much time on it lately because I only play games on the Nintendo anymore, and that’s rare. A couple of weeks ago, while I was checking my email and listening to some music to fit my melancholic mood (Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day, fits perfectly now*), my speakers emitted a bit of growly flatulence. “A thousand pardons to you!” I thought. The first outburst was followed only seconds later by a spray of explosive, unbridled speaker farts – the sound being such that I actually turned red at the thought of my neighbor confusing the event with my being on the toilet, begging for mercy and easy cleanup.

A quick check of the cables revealed good connections, although the speakers belched otherwise. The farts turned to sounds more like microwave popcorn, until POP – they actually blew. No one thinks about blowing out computer speakers, and I am just not surprised that it happened to me. Of course, this prompted me to have to run to Best Buy and pick up a new pair – this time with subwoofer – to replace the gaseous, popping ones.

*I really need to download the lyrics and make sure that I have not again mistaken the meaning of the song for something else – I have a tendency to do that.