Humbug

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Going to Ft. Lauderdale is like taking a trip into prehistory. It's a long, seven hour drive from Tallahassee, made only the slightest bit bearable with movies playing on the Pokedex (out of this driver's sight, of course). You get here and are hot wearing shorts even through it's the middle of winter. Humidity is super high and the bugs... the bugs are everywhere. My mother is the Jane Goodall of mosquitoes. She leaves half the doors in the house open, especially the ones facing the stream. During dinner the fans are on full blast to try and deter the flying beasts, but to no avail. The many spiders that inhabit my bedroom and bathrooms are at least quiet and well-behaved. And then there's the technology. The computer I built for her is still running reasonably well, as is the 17" CRT we bought during the Clinton administration. Sure I spent an hour uninstalling bogus programs her various boyfriends have dumped on it, but two hours later it was sufficiently defragged and was able to load Firefox before I would slip into a coma. Televisions are in an even sadder state: there are four in the house, none of which even have stereo sound. The monster 60" TV is about as old as I am. Its projection guns are completely shot: colors have a drastic orange tint, it takes five minutes for the screen to reach its full height and any color darker than medium gray becomes pitch black. I watched Ratatouille on that screen and was depressed throughout the whole movie. I have my Wii with me but I'm terrified of hooking it up in case I lose my appetite for my most favorite games. South Florida is still exactly how I remember it. I don't know why I was expecting a "Moving Mars" style Earth makeover. The roads are still flat and long, and the drivers are still totally insane. I hope you never hear me complaining about Tallahassee drivers, because even the pinkest freshmen is only stupid dangerous. These folks are aggressively, pointedly dangerous. Good thing my ports of call are just Publix, Sawgrass Mills Mall and Tate's Comics or I'd be in a world of hurt by now. At least there's high speed Internet at the house, plus all the root beer I can drink (which turns out to be a lot). I'm trying to pick up some cooking tips while I'm here, or at least the solution to not make my scrambled eggs look like yellow shrapnel. I would have gotten the recipe for Shim's Special Salad that I loved so much from my old sushi chef, but they were closed, damn it. I know it involves tuna, radish strings, wasabi and vinaigrette... and that's all I can remember. Christmas is only a day away but I am more uninterested than ever. I don't have any good gifts, nor do I expect to receive any (excepting the super badass keyboard my mother bought, as she insists it is not my Christmas present). Family, in my case, involves no more people than those who gather every Friday for Rock Band. I hope they don't intend to be entertained by any virtual bowling this year. I've learned my lesson. Bitter, no? I guess I've had a kind of bad streak lately: my new work friends stand me up on a Saturday Rock Band playdate and offer no apologies; my old work friends dismiss my blog for having too many words like I’m some broom-commanding sorcerer’s apprentice; and my job involves me staying late and missing lunch to work around someone else's frantic situation. Little wonder I'm cloistered in my room, tapping away on the Pokedex and wondering if this year's resolution should be to finish The Villain. I always get creative when I'm depressed, and right now I'm feeling those juices flowing. Or is that the root beer?