I did very little that was productive this weekend. I feel no guilt or remorse about it. I have come to view relaxing as being at least equally productive as a lot of the more conventionally productive things I could have been doing.
I have been having another run of dreams pertaining to my former career. This has been going on for about two weeks. As is usually the case, these dreams are not set in any place where I actually worked, but rather in places that didn't exist in my waking life. I wonder what prompts these to occur when they do.
I didn't get out on so-called 'Black Friday' but couldn't help but notice how empty the streets seemed on Saturday and Sunday. At the intersection of NW Expwy and Penn, which is usually clogged with Penn Square Mall traffic this time of year, a police officer had been stationed this afternoon to make sure motorists didn't block the exit from the neighboring 50 Penn Place. But he had nothing to do but sit in his car: the street was almost devoid of traffic.
At Borders, dreary Christmas music (dreary to me, anyway) was playing. Dean Martin roasting chestnuts on an open fire. Christmas music in general depresses me.
Someone came in to the RC this evening and asked me for help with his WinXP laptop. He had installed Internet Explorer 7, and suddenly he couldn't connect to the Internet at all via wifi. I looked at it, and as best as I can tell, his computer is now unable to get DHCP information from routers. Only on Windows could installing a browser break DHCP. Well, at least I wasn't the one who broke it this time.
2 comments:
I never, ever go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. In fact I try not to go shopping at all between T-day and Christmas. I usually go out once, to get presents for my family. There have been years when what I bought them was entirely a function of which stores weren't crowded.
I did venture out to Beverly Hills today and was surprised at how empty it was. Weird.
I think the Christmas music playing in stores and such should be more R&B style. If you’ve gotta hear all that music all the time everywhere you go, why not it be the blues?
There’s nothing like hearing Etta James moaning, groaning and belting out Please Come Home for Christmas. I can’t help but smile.
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