This morning got off to a less than auspicious start.
I woke up and noticed that it still wasn’t entirely light out, so I rolled over to look at my clock and saw that it was exactly 7:00.
I also noted that a very, very cold breeze was coming in through my open windows.
As there’s virtually nothing better than snuggling up tightly in your warm blankets in reaction to the cold around you (There’s nothing better when you’re in the bed alone, anyway.), I proceeded to do so with some amount of delight at the prospect of idly dozing in warmth while the world was freezing around me.
Then I realized that I had woken up in the first place because I’d heard a sound.
The sound was something vaguely akin to the sound of a rubber-soled shoe quickly and sharply skidding against a hardwood floor amid the rapid pace of a basketball game.
Then I heard it again and realized that it was my smoke alarm.
Since the smoke alarms in my apartment are hardwired, I couldn’t imagine why it was making the noise.
Still, even though, as far as I understood it, the alarm SHOULDN’T have been making the “your battery is dying” noise, the fact remained that it was, and that it was going to do its level best to keep me from idly dozing in warmth while the world froze around me.
So I got up. Specifically, I got up and tried to see if I had anything lying around that had the number for maintenance on it.
I couldn’t find any such item, though I did find a copy of my lease, which unequivocally stated that the smoke alarms are hardwired and DO NOT have a battery back-up, making it the tenant’s responsibility to purchase an additional alarm that is dual-powered.
(With all apologies to Brian and Kathleen, who are volunteer fire fighters, I must admit that I haven’t done so.)
Then the irritating chirping, which had occurred at completely random intervals, simply stopped.
So I decided that maybe it had been some sort of glitch in the system or something and put it out of my mind.
After about a half an hour it started again.
The office didn’t open for another half an hour, and since I had no number with which to reach maintenance, I was at an impasse. My ceilings are 9’ high and I don’t have anything both tall and stable enough, to stand on in order to reach the ceiling.
Since, as far as I could tell, the problem wasn’t a dying battery, there wasn’t anything I could do even if I could reach the alarm, short of tearing the damn thing loose, which didn’t really seem like a good idea anyway.
So I went for a walk to kill time before the office opened, with the hope that maybe I’d run into one of the maintenance guys driving around the parking lot in their little golf cart.
I didn’t, but once the office opened I was informed that the alarms do, in fact, have a battery back-up, and that they would get it replaced for me.
(So I don't owe any apologies to Brian and Kathleen, as I do have smoke alarms with battery back-up.)
Since I was up and out and about, I opted to go for a regular walk, hoping that by the time I got back the battery would have been replaced.
That seemed to be the case when I returned, as there was no more chirping…until about ten minutes later, when it chirped once, and only once, just for the sake of being recalcitrant, I think.
Eventually some young punk who kept calling me “dude” showed up and replaced the batteries on both of the alarms while he was here.
So crisis resolved, I guess.
While I was out walking I saw someone whom I haven’t seen much of lately, since I’ve been so lax about going for walks.
As I explained during the whole “Flame Chick” entry, I have a tendency to give people nicknames, for the sake of utility if nothing else, that are indicative of some aspect of the person’s personality or appearance, but in this case I’ve been remiss, and I simply refer to her as “The lady with the garbage bag.”
I’ve never been sure what her deal is, I just know that whenever I see her she’s out walking, dressed in standard gear for walking, and carrying a garbage bag.
Today, for the first time, I noted that she isn’t simply carrying something in the bag; she does actually stop to pick things up and put them in the bag. I was too far behind her to see exactly what she was picking up, but the trails tend to be fairly litter-free (Thanks to her, perhaps?), except for the occasional cigarette butt. I did note, however, as I proceeded along behind her, that she did miss several cigarette butts.
In any case, I don’t know if she’s doing this in any sort of official capacity, or just as some sort of self-righteous busybody/concerned citizen (take your pick), but I did at least note that she isn’t just randomly carrying around a garbage bag with her, so that solves at least part of the mystery of “The lady with the garbage bag.”
If you are one of those poor unfortunates who's never read anything by Neil Gaiman, and, after the previous post, you’re wondering what the big deal is, let me say that it’s not just his incredibly original ideas, the evidence of the overwhelming erudition of a man who’s read bloody everything that shows through in all of his work, or even the fact that his stories manage to run the gamut from laugh out loud hilarious to turn on all the lights terrifying, it’s all of these things and more, and most of all, it’s his brilliant turns of phrases like this one:
Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.
The above is quoted from “Neverwhere.”
Consider this a recommendation, or even a command, if you like, but in any case READ SOMETHING BY NEIL GAIMAN.
You won’t regret it, and if you do regret it, the odds are that you either aren’t very bright or you don’t have a soul, or both. If you can’t enjoy something written by Neil Gaiman then you are some sort of empty, shallow vessel that has a leak in it and therefore cannot be filled with anything worthwhile.
Some of the best stuff to read is his work on “The Sandman,” but if you are absolutely incapable of accepting the notion that words and pictures can come together to tell and amazing story and must, by necessity, be for children, then try some of his novels and collections of short stories, such as “Smoke and Mirrors,” “Stardust,” “Neverwhere,” “American Gods,” and “Good Omens,” which was co-authored with Terry Pratchett.
Also, check out www.neilgaiman.com for more info and insight on who he is.
I guess that’s enough of a sermon on the value of reading things by Neil Gaiman.
It’s hard to not go on (and on) about how people should read his stuff, not just because I think it’s all wonderful, but because I’ve been talking about how wonderful it is for so long that it’s become an ingrained habit.
Throughout the years my evangelism has actually ended up costing me a great deal.
I already mentioned that I lost my copy of “The Time of Your Life” after loaning it out to a friend in an attempt to demonstrate just how good it was.
I also lost huge chunks of my “Sandman” collection as well, under similar circumstances.
(Of course, in that particular instance, I lost a great deal more than just some books, but that’s a very long and pathetic story that I don’t feel like getting into right now.)
It’s long been my intention to rebuild my collection, but money continues to be an issue, and whenever I do have some disposable income something else invariably seems to come up.
In any case, I guess that will do for now. I need to figure out whether or not I have anything to accompany the chicken I’ll be having for dinner tonight or if I have to walk over to Safeway to pick something up. I’m sure I’ll have more to say, and possibly another picture, later today.
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