Thursday, January 22, 2004


My internet access at the Blonde Bachelorette Pad has been down for two days, and I have done nothing about it because I have the type of crack service provider where if your access goes out and you do nothing about it for a little while, more often than not it will reappear as magically as it left. It's kind of like taming a wild horse-- if you hover somewhere in the distance and make no sudden movements, the treasure you seek shall come unto you.

But when I was still getting demands from AOL to create a new account this morning, even after I set out an entirely new bucket of oats, it was clear that the 404 Fairy would not be approaching anytime soon. So I called tech support, which as always exceeded my expectations for advisement concerning the complex network of metal, electricity, and microchips that is my laptop.

"Try turning it off and back on again," they said. (This is also how NASA fixed the Mars Rover.)

I was, as you can well imagine, absolutely stunned when this did nothing to bring Drudge unto me, so I called back and was placed on hold for fourteen minutes. There was much clicking of keys on the other end. I checked my cable, my plug-ins, and my power supply again. What kind of minute technical glitch was keeping me from my beloved inbox?

"Okay, I think I see the problem here," said the advisor. I braced myself for a complicated set of instructions concerning ping rates, reloadings, network connections, and error messages.

"Your account has been suspended," he said. "We're showing a balance of ninety-seven dollars and twenty four cents." Oh.

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