Last night Bellsouth finally hooked up my second phone line. When I got home I saw the little note on my door saying it was hooked up, but when I tried my second line I got no dial tone. So I had to go outside and fudge with the box to get it working. It was not two hard, just a couple of the wires were not hooked up for whatever reason. It was cheaper than paying some Bellsouth guy 100 bucks to twist a couple of wires together. Then I had to figure out which line was which number and it took me a little bit of internet searching before I found the number you dial to have a robot voice read back your telephone number to you. So now that's hooked up and my caption phone can caption incoming messages and people do not have to call an 800 number beforehand. So those of you that need my home phone number it is now '407.324.4453'.
The day of my party I managed to mash my thumb up good in one of those most idiotic ways possible. I had a little crockpot full of little smokies, however the crockpot lost it's knob somewhere along the passages of time, and I was left with just a plastic protrusion for me to twist upon. I tried to flick it on when my hands were slightly damp, and my thumb slipped and ended up ripping a big chunk of nail, right down to the 'meaty'part where blood warms up. Having no band-aids I wrapped it up in a paper towel and black electrical tape. It did the job, however I enlisted Ron and Shallan for the burger and cheese preparation so I did not bleed over everyone's food. For the rest of the day I kept idiotically banging my thumb against various things, sending a red lance of pain through my thumb. However, that seems to have tapered off by now.
TJ useing his ninja skills to defend against my thumb
I am toying with the idea of going on a mini-adventure; riding my bike around savannah Georgia. After reviewing the Amtrak routs I discovered that an track stops right next to the historic district of savannah. To get from the Orlando station to savannah it cost a mere 40 dollars.
I-95 is possibly the single most boring road in the east. It's just one long nonstop highway of pavement with nothing to see except clumps of trees on either say of the road. The last time I went up I-95 was when I took a little trip with S to Charleston. Luckily I did not have to drive, but when I dozed off and then awoke in the wee hours of the night the road before us had become like a dark tunnel, the limits of what could be seen illuminated by the car's headlight. It felt eerily isolated.
There is a song by the Bloodhound Gang called 'asleep at the wheel' that I think I read somewhere referred to the drive down I-95. It's a long monotonous boring drive and lulling you into a sense of sleep is actually unnervingly easy. It's a rather apt song.
Anyways, the Amtrak train takes all the work of I-95 out of you. You just settle down in your comfy chair for five hours or so, or wander down to the drink car to nip on some booze. Not a bad deal for 40 dollars.
The Amtrak stop is actually in the very skirts of the historic zone. In fact, the space between the Amtrak station and the Bay street with the historic waterfront is only 4 miles. Annoying to walk, too short for a cab, but perfect for a bike ride.
Amtrak lets you check a bike on as if it was luggage. I could ride the train up there, hop off at the station and get my bike, ride around the city for the day and check out the sights and the food, find somewhere to sleep, and then be back on the train the next day to ride back to Orlando. As for places to sleep, depending on my thriftiness or need for luxury, I can stay at one of the several hotels in the area, or I can stay at the local Hostel in the historic district that charges 30 dollars for a bed at night. It's nothing luxurious, but it's a cheap place to crash for the night. Plus the hostel is located in an old Victorian mansion in the historic district. Or I can just sneak into one of the many graveyards and snooze behind a gravestone. The next day I would ride back to the train station, and be home that evening.
I had been to Savannah before and it's a neat little city. The only problem is that its too big to walk, but so small that taking a car anywhere is a pain in the ass because the parking sucks. Seems to me a bike would be a perfect place to explore this city.
I'm going to have to sketch up my plans and make this a little weekend adventure sometime soon. Preferably when there's a full moon out so if I'm out at night at least there will be light.
In the mean time, I am going to have to go see the Orlando crying Virgin Mary.
http://www.local6.com/news/12957572/detail.html
2026 Update
Setting the machine to April 2007, when Ed's thumb meets a crockpot and his second phone line becomes a DIY project.
Nineteen years on, your world reads like a museum diorama. Bellsouth and a second phone line—today a 'line' is a digital scar in a family plan, and dial tone is something kids hear in ghost videos. You went outside to fudge wires with your bare hands; we now shake our heads at a router and call support, and the support call itself may be an AI. The caption phone was a proud device; now it's a feature in your pocket, sitting next to ten thousand apps that listen and sell your pauses. That thumb injury, patched with paper towel and electrical tape, is the old way: now you'd be swiping through a smart-bandage subscription and a two-day wait for delivery. And forty dollars for Amtrak to Savannah? Today forty dollars gets you a seat on a bus that stops at wherever-the-heck, if you can figure out the app. I applaud the graveyard backup plan, though—in 2026 every respectable bench is armrest-packed and no one sleeps outdoors without a camera crew.
“2007 Ed, you saved a hundred bucks and traded it for a torn thumb wrapped in electrical tape—was that really a win, or did you just want to tell us about your stupid crockpot story?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you got me. I mean, yeah, saving a hundred bucks felt like a win right up until I was outside in the dark twisting Bellsouth wires together and muttering curses at whoever left them loose. And the thumb thing? That was pure idiot tax. I had a crockpot with no knob, my hands were damp, and next thing I know I'm ripping a chunk of nail off down to the meaty part. Wrapped it in a paper towel and black electrical tape like some kind of bush mechanic. Ron and Shallan had to do the burgers so I didn't bleed on the food. Was it a win? Financially, sure. Stupidity-wise, I'd say it ranks a solid 8.9 on the suck-o-meter. But honestly? Yeah, I kind of just wanted to tell you about my stupid crockpot story. Take that, Bellsouth and crockpot knob thieves everywhere.
