It’s impossible to write very thoughtful, smart, link-filled posts right now. It’s 9:30 already, and it’s the first chance that I’ve had to log on all day. So, instead I’ll just have ramble on about life around here.

Last Friday, the Verizon guy finally showed up at 5:30. Only five hours late. He walks into the house and immediately asks, “You sure you want me to put in these jacks? You know how much they cost, don’t you? I don’t make the prices. I just hook people up, you know.”
“Yeah, put in the jacks.”
He looks at the phone jack that is hanging from a thread in the middle of wall in the kitchen. “You sure you want a floor jack? This one works fine. You can get one of those wall phones. You should really think about this. I could come in next week.”
“Ur. Well. Maybe. In the meantime, could you put the one in the office? I really, really need that.”
“Sigh.”
I walk him up to the office. And he grunts that we could probably use one there. He walks outside to check out the outside of the house.
“You’ve got a tree there. I can’t get my ladder up.”
“Cut down the limbs. That tree has to go anyway.”
Minutes later. “You know that you’ve got asbestos shingles don’t you? That thing could shatter into a million pieces if I put a hammer through it.”
“Shatter away.”
Minutes later. “I cut down those limbs, but the tree is still in the way. You’re going to have to get someone in to fix it. Someone will have to come in next week.”
He ran into his truck and roared away with a big grin on his face.

This morning the tree guy came, but couldn’t promise to do anything until Sunday.

Later this afternoon, I had to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles, because my license expires tomorrow. DMV, the waiting room for hell. All in shades of taupe and sea green, designed to put the throngs of hopeful drivers into a state of stupor. I came with a satchel of paperwork with my name, date of birth, and new address. One hour later, a woman with purple finger nails and red pants came out of an inner room and shouted in 152, 153, 154 and 155. 155 — that’s me. It seems that number shouting was this woman’s entire responsibility. Something that a nice sign could have accomplished. Anyhow, the license thing finally happened. One thing checked off the list.

Still on the list is updating this blog. And figuring out why Typepad won’t let me respond to comments on my own blog. Seems like Typepad doesn’t like Macs.

Also on the list is getting a two year old to bed. He’s sitting on my lap babbling in Hungarian and flat out refusing to go to bed.