Sunday, June 17, 2012

Oh, what a week

Sometimes it's probably best just to stay in bed.

Less than two weeks after we bought ourselves a brand new MacBook Pro laptop, we fried it. A beverage containing fruity acids and sugars was accidentally knocked onto the machine, and the computer that once reached nearly lightning speed in almost all of its functions began traveling at the speed of terminal impatience.

Then, as the screen flickered and pouted in anguish, it stopped traveling altogether.

We opted not to get the extended warranty at the time of purchase because we don't have children and, well, we're adults here and we know how to take care of our things.

I tried other options to replace the computer. I called AppleCare and they said if there's spillage involved, forget it. I called my credit card to see if they have a program in place to repair major purchases, but they don't. And my homeowner's policy has a $1,000 deductible, which is about the price of a new MacBook Pro anyway.

I took the damaged instrument to a local repair shop in town where the owner, Conrad Mcknight, did his absolute best to clean things up. But it was to no avail. When he turned it on —"The moment of truth," he said when I arrived just in time for the big event — it powered up and then promptly froze.

Conrad told us he could get a refurbished motherboard for $500, or one straight from the Apple factory for $800. We elected to bite the bullet and just get a new computer — along with a two-year warranty that was good for spillage, droppage and most other mistakage.


From here on out we might drink our wine out of sippy cups.

Anyway, while all of this was going on, our proposed historic district commode backed up. This has been an occasional recurring problem for us and during one of our plumber's visits, it was indicated to us that we might eventually need a new sewer line to the city system.

Now, it appeared, was the time. Pipes all over the house were gurgling every time we flushed the john. It was nerve wracking, wondering if the commode was going to overflow. So, for a couple of days, we simply went to The Dispatch (where I once worked for 30 years and still have a key) and went, if you know what I mean.

There is a 72-hour period when there is no digging allowed in order for the city to tag the other lines that run to the property. It's probably a good idea to know where the gas, water and communication lines go before bringing in backhoes and such. So the city came out and started spray painting colorful dashes all around our house.  There's blue for the water line, yellow for the gas line and, out in the street in front of us, orange for the communication line. It looks like we're getting ready to be cut up by a pair of giant scissors.

The sewer line (which, curiously, was not marked but was snaked) runs uncomfortably close to the gas line. When they do start digging, I might try to make sure I'm away that day. Maybe I'll be at my insurance company to review my homeowner's policy.

I'm taking my laptop with me.

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