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That’s kind of a gross greeting if you really think about it.
New York was pretty great Sunday morning. I woke up and laid around in bed, and I think there was some kind of pigeon convention outside my window. I do wonder what they were carrying on about.
So, I take the bus back, and I’m listening to rock and roll (if there’s one thing rock and roll has taught me, it’s that “girl” and “world” rhyme) and my eyes are closed and I’m making up speeches that I’d make if I were president. Mostly about space travel, and why it’s the best idea ever. And it’s great, then I get in and I’m about to catch the 48 home and I get a call from So and the Germans, and they’re right at City Hall! So I walk down there and we meet up and walk around and it starts snowing. All gang-busters so far right? How could a day that started so great go so horribly wrong, you might wonder?
So then Sa calls me, and turns out that not one, not two, but all three of the circuit boards I built her, extensively tested, hot glued, abused and battered weren’t working. This is statistically impossible. So I’m walking around on this beautiful snowy Philadelphia afternoon with the Germans and we’re seeing the Liberty Bell and they’re taking pictures of each other outside of Wendy’s, and what am I doing? I’m on the phone to New York trying different combinations of Bluetooth adapters and batteries the whole time. Totally ruined it. I mean, this is not untested technology, these are things I’ve been using happily, durably for a few months now. I pretty much give up. The most scientific explanation I’ve come up with is that Sa’s project has been put under some kind of voodoo curse. That’s the only thing that can make all the fruits of months of scientific labor stop in their tracks and piss themselves. Sadly, all I know about Santeria I learned from Sublime, so I’m really up shit’s creek on that one.
Long story short, they never get any of the boards that I know were working hours before working, so Sa drives through the snow from New York and drops them off with me, so now I have to fix them. So, I really don’t even want to go home. They’re sitting on my dining room table now, like some kind of haunted clown toy you’ve given away thrice, but keeps showing up, grinning at you like a mad and dangerous idiot, and you start to wonder, who’s actually the puppet in this relationship?