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Stoopid power button that you can't even tell if you've pressed

Stoopid power button that you can’t even tell if you’ve pressed

Dusty computer cords courtesy of dreamstime.com Mine were too clean to take a photo of!

Dusty computer cords courtesy of dreamstime.com
Mine were too clean to take a photo of!

Oprah, do you find technology is the root of all evil (angry husbands) like I do?  Well, we have done it again!  We have sent Greg to the moon!  He fixes computers for a living, so sometimes I like to test his skills at home.  I usually do this by cleaning things, like the surfaces around our five thousand pieces of technology.  It never fails, I get the surfaces that once looked like a heard of woolly mammoths sleeping, all shiny and new, and G. comes home tries out the cable, the Xbox, the PS3, his PC, or any number of other devices and something won’t work.  Naturally, I am accused of having the “brown finger.”  You know the one that turns everything it touches to shit?  Unfortunately, there is a bit of a sad truth here, but I also feel that all of our game systems, computers (we have several) and anything else that requires so many cables they resembles a bowl of spaghetti, seem to be powered by dental floss and chewing gum—and apparently dust.  Get near any of the devices with so much as a random piece of fabric and they will break, causing Greg to shoot into orbit all the while leaving a trail of expletives and brown finger accusations in his contrails.  This morning was no different…

It started with Greg realizing that his PS3  had been left running for 24 hours because the boys didn’t turn it off.  In their defense, the on off switch isn’t a button, it’s a touch pad (in a dark cabinet) which makes it really hard to see on the console.  Then when you do find it, it takes a minute to respond by turning off, which makes a person want to touch it about 8 more times while they wait to see if they pressed the right spot.  I could kill eight hours in front of that damned thing waiting to see if I actually powered it down.

Okay, so he got over this, but then he went to charge the controller for it and he couldn’t get the USB ports to work on his desktop PC, even though everything else was working.  So, in my infinite wisdom (because he couldn’t see for himself) I told him that I had cleaned everything on and under his desk, and maybe one of the 12,000 miles of cable got disconnected.  When he found that was not the case, and continued to get more agitated, I suggested that maybe he power the computer off and then power it back on—you know the universal fix!  After all, he uses that crap on me all the time.  With reluctance, and few angry obscenities, he did it.  Guess what?  It wouldn’t come back on!  Oh, holy hell—I was on the you-know-what-list now!  I’ve been forbidden to clean around his stuff anymore—this should be awesome!  Yay!  One less thing to do!  I told him, that I wasn’t doing it anyway, but because it looked like his desk and electronics looked like it had been upholstered in gray felt, I couldn’t help myself—it was obvious he wasn’t going to do it.  Broken stuff is a small price to pay for pretty, clean surfaces in my book.  I guess Greg doesn’t feel the same way—maybe next time he will dust is own shite a little more often.

In the meantime, I have upped the life insurance (for G.), bought three caskets–one for Greg, and 2 for all the computers, game consoles, speakers, and cables– to bury them in when Somebody finally bursts a blood vessel in a fit of rage; and decided that when that time comes I am going to watch TV using the built-in speakers, with just a simple cable box.  I will have a laptop and an iPad, and when they get messed up, I will simply throw them out and buy new.