I don’t have a smartphone but my cell phone isn’t dumb. After all, when it is powered on, it displays the day of the week, the date and time. It can also take pictures and make videos of events taking place in my presence. It can send an email. I’ve been told that if I am willing to pay extra, my bland flip style cell phone can even receive emails. If I didn’t have that doggone carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand, I’d probably even take advantage of text messaging and receiving instant messages. I even think that a gps system has been burnt into the cell phone so that law enforcement officials can find out where it is hiding if my cell phone tries to run away. Yes, I’d say my little buddy is a pretty electronic smart dude.
You know what bugs me? There’s a fine line between telling an outright lie and fudging on the truth. The latter is usually when all the facts are not available so you go with the flow because it is the easy or lazy way. A certain person fudging the truth gave me some aggravation just the other day.
Hey, it’s not every day I go up against a big money organization and prevail in a courtroom battle. I want to thank my team of lawyers for working hard to make this a victorious outcome. Whatever they earned, it was worth it.
I was so happy to receive the settlement agreement check in the mail. I quickly deposited it in the bank and figured that in about another one hundred and fifty years it will start to earn interest. You see, the check was for only three cents. That’s not a typo. In fact, I had no clue I was even part of a so-called class action lawsuit against a major internet company. But, I’ll takes what I can gets. Continue reading “Wowee, I Won a Lawsuit!”
The early summer of 2012 in Chicago will probably go down in the record books for the most days of 100 degrees and above weather. At least it seems that way. This baby boomer think back to the days before central air conditioning was commonplace. In fact, a window unit in a house or apartment until the mid 1960’s was considered a luxury item that few could afford.
I don’t wear a white dress shirt with a narrow tie nor is my hair combed grease-back style. I don’t stare bug-eyed and bloodshot. Still, I get no respect.
You see, I’m the guy who has to press the button on the car remote one extra time to induce that flatulence-sounding noise. You know what I mean. It does more than reaffirm that I locked the car without putting the key in the door while standing twenty or so feet away. I’m trying to let all others within earshot know not to mess with me. My car is locked and anchored to its resting place until needed again. Okay, I do it to annoy others who don’t care about me or my car. Or maybe they just went through the same ritual and flatulated their own vehicle not far from mine. You can say it is another way of marking my car’s territory in a sea of other automobiles at the mall parking lot.
The early afternoon of July Fourth seems like a good day to take a pleasure drive around the Chicago metropolitan area. Pleasure drives are something I do rarely these past few years, what with the cost of gas as it is. Now that a gallon is about 90 cents cheaper than it was a few months ago at its highest, I guess I can afford this one luxury on a day no one will be calling me at an inconvenient time for computer help.
Ready to retire for the night, I head first to the kitchen and grab a swig of chocolate soy milk out of the fridge before the other rituals and head to the bedroom. After a minute or so of lying down and reading, despite being absorbed in a good book, I start to hear dull, rhythmic noises, vague to my sense of recognition.
I’m immediately reminded of that Dick Van Dyke Show episode where Rob is working late in the evening at his Manhattan office. He hears peculiar sounds coming from the water cooler and begins to believe it is trying to communicate with him. After investigation, it turns out to be a scientist secretly working on a toy rocket ship at night on the floor above his.