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America Online: Super Lightweight Instant Messenger 1.0™


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TiVo

For Christmas my brother bought my parents a TiVo. Then he escaped to Boston, leaving me to set it all up for them. He’s an evil genius.

Though, to be fair, they did need an upgrade. A few days before Christmas we were gathered in the living room, watching something on a tape, when the VCR started emitting a high-pitched squeal.

You know when you pick up the phone during a fax and it makes that horrible shrill sound? Yeah, it sounded a lot like that. Only that is what is SUPPOSED to happen during a fax. This sounded like the VCR was crying out for help.

I waited about a minute before I said, “Uhh… the VCR is about to explode.”
“Just ignore it” came the reply from my dad as my sister cranked the volume on the TV to drown it out.
I tried to tune it out, like they had grown accustomed to, shutting out the piercing plea to be put out of its misery. In the meantime, I shifted the blankets in front of me like a shield, calculating an estimated blast radius in case it finally combusted.

I should take this time to mention the phenomenon known as the “Greg Field.” Basically, the “Greg Field” is an invisible (but very real) bubble that interferes with electronic signals. Scientists have been able to pinpoint the center of the field, determining the cause to be my dad, who knocks out electric devices as he moves about the house. Machines previously working flawlessly before entering “The Field” are rendered to expensive and bulky paperweights. Just so you know what I’m working against.

Setting up the TiVo was like an intense wrestling match, only there were less tights involved. Not saying there weren’t tights, they were just hidden under my tear-away pants in case that devil machine REALLY wanted to throw down.

Everything started out smoothly. I set it all up in the living room without reading the instructions because, after all, I’m a man. “Pathetic little video recorder,” I sneered as I turned on the TV to make sure it was all set up, and… nothing. Touché TiVo.

I scrambled behind the TV, checking wires and connections. Nothing seemed to be fixing it. Apparently I underestimated unplugging and plugging it back in.

So once sweet power was flowing to my opponent, I knew we were in for more of a struggle than I had anticipated. According to the instructions, (which I finally gave in and consulted) the TiVo requires a phone connection to activate. Unfortunately, the only plug was on the other side of the room. So I ended up stretching a phone cord across the living room. You know that scene at the end of Back to the Future where Doc is stretching the power cord to send Marty back to the future? Well, let’s just say that while I was hanging on for dear life I thought, “The things I do to record digital television.”

Ok, so the TiVo is activated. The Teletubby-esque TiVo logo was merrily doing a mocking jig. Now I can’t have a phone cord snaking its way across the room, so I decided I was going to hook up the wireless internet. Here is where the “Greg Field” kicked in. I plugged in the wireless adaptor and looked up eagerly at the screen, only to see “No signal found.” Fantastic. After doing a fair amount of fiddling, I carried the TiVo back to the bedroom where the wireless signal originates. I hooked it all up and placed the wireless adaptor literally on top of the router. No signal. Well played, TiVo. Well played.

Six hours later I changed some random setting somewhere. As I left the room, taking a much-needed break from the bout, I glanced over at the screen. Eureka! A signal had been found and was operating at 80%! Wait, 80 percent? It’s sitting directly on top of it! The antennas are touching each other. Damn you “Greg Field!”

To make a long story short, I moved the TiVo back into the living room and when Dad goes to the store it gets a 15% signal.

I would learn later that the biggest feat of all was teaching TiVo. You know what they say. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” And not only was my dog not interested, my parents weren’t too keen on learning either.
My sister hasn’t even warmed up to the idea yet. “Just show me how to change the channels,” she said.
“But you can –”
“No, I don’t care.”
“And there’s the –”
“No, shut up.”
“With the –”
“GO AWAY!”
“And the –”
She then made a sound that reminded me of the old VCR. Ahhh, the memories.

But they also say, “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.” I’ve read about 5 pages of the manual, so I’m the reigning recording royalty. That is until the “Greg Field” knocks out the power.

Church of Seuss

Now that we’ve read from the Book of the Cat in the Hat Comes Back and joined hands to sing together the song of the Lorax, we shall pause for a moment to remember. We should remember that each and every one of us is truly blessed to have a wocket in our pockets, and that others around the world are sadly… wocketless. Please take a moment, fellow Seussians.

Ok, now that we’ve taken care of that little agenda item, let’s have Brother Babbagazoo come up to the podium. And while he is reading, we will be sending around a way for you to help the Church of Seuss. If you empty all your dozzles from your purzles into the collection bazzles, then Seuss might forgive you for all your snizzles.

So, without further ado, here is Brother Babbagazoo!

Thank you, Brother Popealopalus. This is a reading from the Book of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, Chapter 1: Verses 1-4.

One fish
Two fish
Red fish
Blue fish

Black fish
Blue fish
Old fish
New fish

This one has
A little star.

This one has a little car.
Say! What a lot
of fish there are.

This is the word of the Seuss.
Amenssical.

Now what does that teach us? Huh? Anyone?
That’s right, there are plenty of fish in the sea. So divoraxedoodle, while still a snizzle, can sometimes be the only way. Half of all unions end in a divoraxedoodle, which means about half of you sitting out there are wasting your time. Unless you give us more dozzles. Thank you.

Ok, that was a great reading. Now, as you all know, before he was Seussified, Sam-I-Am would not eat green eggs and ham. He would not eat them with a mouse, he would not eat them in a house. But eventually he does eat them, with a goat in a boat. Today we will eat green eggs and ham, as a symbol of our belief in Seuss.
So everyone form a line to the front, we’re going to give you pieces of green eggs and ham and you can feel totally blessed and shizzle with symbolic food.

Alright, well, that about wraps up today’s lessons. Next time we will read from the Book of Fox in Socks.

One final word to all the young Seussians. If you’re going to “Hop on Pop,” make sure you take birth control piddlediddledizzles!!!

Seuss be with you!

Sleeping

Sleep and I were never friends. We never really saw eye-to-eye on the whole "getting rest" part. Most people go to bed and they fall asleep. Not so with me. I go to bed and I try to log hours. A couple hours here. A couple hours there. Anything I can get, I take.

When most people get tired while they are driving, they press on, turning the radio up a little louder, or rolling down the window. I yank the wheel over to the side of the road and set up camp. Cars are flying past at 70 mph and I’m taking a nap on the shoulder.

Ok, so that was an exaggeration. But seriously, I can’t sleep.

I’ve tried everything; adding and subtracting pillows of varying sizes, taking dangerous combinations of sleep-inducing medication, or imbibing indeterminable amounts of alcohol. Nothing seems to work. Of course it doesn’t help that my bed at home is a concrete slab with a sheet pulled over it.

I’m not exactly a morning person either. I can’t function the first hour or two after the alarm goes off. If I can go that full time without speaking, then I’m ok. Otherwise you’ll probably get an instinctive response that may or may not be offensive to midgets.

My parents and friends think I sleep until way past noon sometimes, because I’ll just stay in my room with the door closed. Trust me, I’m doing everyone a favor. It’s like they expect me to wake up and rush to the door, fling it open, and announce to the world that Jeff is awake. Because after I break that threshold to the rest of the world, I know I have to be at least semi-sociable. I’m not making any promises.


You ever stay up so late that you realize its morning? I have. It happened to me this morning, actually. I’m lying there, wondering why I'm still awake and I look over at the window and there’s sunlight coming through it. Yeah, that can’t be good. At that point I was like, “Well, I’m up any way” and got out of bed for breakfast. I haven’t had breakfast since it was served out of a bottle. Not on time, any way.

So I go into the kitchen and the dog looks up at me thinking, “What the hell are you doing up?” And I’m like “I know.” I’m rooting around in the pantry trying to remember what people usually eat for breakfast. Then I see a Fruit Loops box on the top shelf that my mom got for me a few months ago in hopes that I might actually eat that first meal.

I groggily pour myself a bowl of old cereal with milk and in my deliriousness I decide I’m going to eat it in my room. Have you ever tried hopping across the house with a bowl of cereal? (I wasn't wearing my prosthetic leg) It’s not easy. The dog was thinking, “Jackpot!” though, as I jumped down the hallway, leaving a trail of stale fruit loops behind.


Ok, I have to go. I think I feel a nap coming on.

More Halftime Hilarity

Ashlee Simpson (you know, the one who lipsynced on Saturday Night Live) got booed off the stage at the half time show during the Orange Bowl tonight.

If you haven't seen it, here's the video. If you listen closely, you can hear me yelling, "YOU SUCK!" from Houston.

I don't know who's worse, the Simpson sisters or the Hilton sisters. I bet you're thinking, "What did Nikki Hilton do?" Not much, but Paris does enough stuff (people) for the both of them.



I wonder what Ashlee will have to say for this one. Last time it was a long list of excuses, including (not kidding) gastroesophageal reflux disease. This time she sang on her own, though I'm sure William Hung could have done a better job.

No hoe down this time, Ashlee?