Since today is Willie Nelson's birthday, I thought I'd check up on him to see how he's doing. Except how do I go about doing that? I don't know his phone number. Then I thought, hey, it's the 21st century. Who needs a phone number when there's social media? I decided I'd start with Facebook. I had recently glimpsed a headline with the names "Mark Zuckerberg" and "Monopoly" in it and figured, a guy who likes board games can't be all bad. And that's on top of a radio report that said he trusts his auntie. Or maybe it was his auntie (strangely named Sherman) trusts him. Either way, the guy's all about family. Heartwarming. So I go on FB, type in Willie Nelson, and lo and behold his page pops up! And you can tell he's on it a lot. Every single post there's a picture of Willie along with a message that reads "𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗘𝗦 TO ME 𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬 & 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙂"Who'da thunk that an artist with a net worth of $25 million could be so needy? His humility astounds me. Now you may at this point be asking yourself: how do I know this Facebook page is for real? That it's authorized by the actual Willie Nelson, and not some spammer or phisherman pretending to be Willie Nelson? Because I found the above picture on it, that's how! Sure looks like Willie to me! Doesn't it look like Willie to you? I thought so! And there's that letter he's holding up. Just look howBLUEthose letters are!VERIFIELBLY BLUEin fact! And just look at how fun and cartoony those letters! I'm convinced Willie painstakingly by hand with a marker or crayon printed that whole message on that piece of paper he's holding up.It's much too playful to have been created by some serious ol' computer.
As for Willie's appearance on this blog, I'm afraid that itself lacks verification, as I snagged it from elsewhere. But I can get verification! Mr. Nelson, if you come across this post and want to verify it, feel free to text me. Or better yet (since every time I turn on a cell phone lately I get nothing but Executive Orders),pleaseleavea commentbelow.
I'm sure all you Honeymooners fans out there recognize these three folks, even if they're attired a bit differently than usual. That's because it's just a rehearsal, and not even a dress rehearsal at that. Sitting is Art Carney, who played Ed Norton. Standing behind him is Audrey Meadows, who portrayed Alice Kramden. And as Trixie Norton we have Joyce Randolph (who died just this past Saturday at age 99-- RIP) But where's the big guy, Ralph Kramden, who Jackie Gleason so memorably brought to life? Turns out Gleason didn't like to rehearse, as he wanted his on-air performance to be spontaneous. That apparently was less of a concern to Carney, Meadows, and Randolph (whose own on-air performances were pretty good anyway) so they just rehearsed without him. I assume somebody read Gleason's lines to the other three. Maybe a producer, or a stagehand, or whoever took that picture. It all worked out in the end.
Still, a post about The Honeymooners minus Gleason just doesn't seem right! So here's what I'm going to do, folks. Through the magic of computerized special effects, I'll insert Jackie Gleason, aka, Ralph Kramden, into that long-ago rehearsal.
So where have I been all these months? No, I didn't succumb to the coronavirus, nor do I suffer from the malady mentioned in my most recent post. I admit it was very bad timing on my part to post about one epidemic when another was looming on the horizon. Truth is, I got so caught up in the writing that I paid no attention to the news coming out of Italy at the same time. Imagine my surprise the day after the President's speech--which I skipped--to find every thing had closed, including my beloved public library.
Ah, yes, the public library. As some of you may know, the past twelve years of Shadow of a Doubt has not been composed on any device located in my place of residence but on various computers provided by various branches of the Cuyahoga County Public Library system. Why did I do it that way? Well, it's free Internet they offer, which was very appealing back in 2008 when I was unemployed (in fact, a month before this blog began, I went online for the very first time to fill out a job application for Radio Shack, which so far has gone unacknowledged. Is there even a Radio Shack any more?) Also, I was very computer illiterate at the time, so if I made a mistake and the whole machine started hiccupping on me, I could just go ask the librarian for help, or, if she was busy, I could just, you know, go to another computer. They have more than one.
Alas, there were drawbacks. Such as, libraries close for the night. That wasn't too much of a problem when I was unemployed, or when I had a typical 9-to-5 job for about a year. But that 9-to-5 job disappeared along with the photo albums the company thought it could keep on selling in the age of Instagram. I soon found another job, but one that started when everyone else was going to lunch, and ended when everybody 40 or older began falling asleep in front of the TV. The latter is also about when the libraries closed for the night. That meant my only computer time during the week was about an hour in the morning, which I usually spent leaving comments on other peoples blogs. Weekends I devoted to my own blog (though I sometimes posted later than that to throw everyone--or maybe just one or two people--off-track.) Nevertheless, I got a lot done, and enjoyed myself doing it.
Well, you know what happened next. The world turned into an apocalyptic science-fiction movie. Except instead of this...
...we got this:
Look at Dr. Fauci on the far right. He's hoping the Flesh Eater-in-Chief doesn't call on him.
Back to my situation. No library, no computer, but as we who made it this far in the 21st century know, that doesn't necessarily mean no Internet. I did have a smart phone. It was impossible--at least for me--to work on my blog from my phone, but I could still leave comments on other people's blogs. Which I did for a while. But I wanted to use the Internet for other things as well, and ended up pushing the phone's data capabilities to the limit. I spent a lot of time on Facebook and Linkedin, adding friends and connections, hoping if I got enough friends and connections, I might get out of the rut I find myself in. That was harmless enough. I also worked on my novel Gigi Freeman--longhand in a notebook at this point--and since in its own weird way it's historical fiction, that required quite a bit of research. One of the novel's major characters is the late Manhattan-based attorney, one-time Joe McCarthy sidekick, and alleged-Donald Trump mentor Roy Cohn, whom, unlike Gigi, was a real person (but don't get the idea that this is going to be anything like Angels in America--Tony Kushner's Cohn was Shakespearean, whereas my Cohn is more like someone you'd see on Gilligan's Island.) I found out Cohn's FBI file was available online, so I decided to check it out. Like you would check out anything else on the Web. Except when I clicked it on, this little word appears in the upper left-hand corner of my smart phone screen: download. All 750 pages of Roy Cohn's FBI was getting downloaded into my phone, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, not even turn the damn phone off, because once I turned it back on, it started downloading again! Once it finally stopped--all in all it took about ten minutes--I clicked the words "Roy Cohn's FBI file" off the screen. No way was I going to chance turning it on. I might end up with Ron Liebman's, Nathan Lane's, and Al Pacino's FBI files as well. So I just clicked the words away. But did they truly go away? My phone was never the same after that. It wouldn't let me stay on any web site for more than a nanosecond. And the keyboard stopped working. No, I take that back. It worked, but wouldn't stay on the screen long enough for me to type three letters in a row. The phone part of the phone still worked fine. That's when I decided to call the cable company.
Now, it just so happens that about the the time my phone started going haywire, I received in the mail a "one-time offer" of an Internet/cable bundle for under $50 a month. I'd been without cable for seven years now, and while I missed it somewhat, it wasn't the necessity of life that the Internet was gradually turning out to be (Take the IRS, for instance. While they strongly encourage you to file your taxes online, they will still grudgingly let you fill out a form. But how do you get this form? You guessed it. You have to order it online. Grrr!) I read the small print to see what the Internet all by itself would cost. Slightly more than it would as part of the bundle. If that was the case, why not also get cable? Except when I called the cable company, the person who answered the phone told me I had misunderstood the offer. The bundled Internet was just under $50 a month AND the bundled cable was just under $50 a month, so I'd actually be paying just under $100 dollars a month. I was about to hang up the phone when I got sucked into a bit of mild haggling. A different bundle was offered: Internet and phone service. I'd be paying a lot less than I was currently paying for use of a smart phone. The Internet would be a little less, too. No cable, but that wasn't originally my goal anyway. I did the math and decided it would be affordable.
I've shown this clip on this blog before, but I'm going to show it again, because I think it will give you a better understanding of the aforementioned math:
Life before pocket calculators.
So I went ahead and got the phone and the Internet. But now there was a new problem. I had a second-hand computer given to me by some friends about ten years ago, so it was about 15, maybe even 20 years old, thus making it...
...obsolete.
I didn't know that at first. I complained to the cable company, who, after I described the problem and told them the age of the machine, gave me Microsoft's phone number, and it was they who told me it was obsolete. It wouldn't be had I spent the last ten years getting upgrades, but now it might be too late. I called a couple of computer repair places, and they wanted nothing to do with it. Finally, a relative suggested I try uploading Chrome and see if that helped. It did, but just barely. It took about 20 minutes to access my email. I read three, each which took a minute to open. Then I decided to google "Truman Capote" (another character in Gigi Freeman) and that took ten minutes. Clearly, I needed a new computer. Both Wall-Mart and Best Buy advertised inexpensive laptops, but when I enquired further, both stores were out-of-stock and would be for at least two more weeks. Along with toilet paper, people were apparently hoarding laptops as well.
Amazingly, Target had a single $200 laptop still in stock the Saturday before Memorial Day. I ordered it on my new smart phone, and about 20 minutes later had it delivered to me in that establishment's parking lot. All well and good. Until I started using it. I now realize that for the past 12 years the Cuyahoga County Public Library system has been shielding me from the heartbreak that come with owning a computer. Library computers have been to obedience school, home computers need to be housebroken. A library computer is Lassie, a home computer is Cujo.
For starters, a library computer you just type in your password and start using it. You don't have to worry, care, understand, or even be aware of the difference between a browser and a search engine, between Microsoft and Google, between the company that manufactures the computer, and the cable company that wi-fis the content. It's all the Internet. Just jump in and enjoy! However, on a home computer, the browser and the search engines and the hardware itself seems to be in competition for your attention. I guess I should be flattered except these things all need different passwords and my non-gigabyte brain can only come up with so many upper case-lower case-numbers-symbols combinations. Just why in the hell do I need a Microsoft account? Microsoft came with the computer. When I go to a bar and order a screwdriver, it's not like I need an account with Minute Maid. The word "security" comes up quite a bit, and I realize identity theft is always a concern. But, jeez, I drive a car that's older than the kid that works the drive-thru at McDonald's. In order to save money at coin-operated laundry machines I wash darks and lights together and often end up with some interesting shade in-between. Steal my identity and you just might end up a member of the working poor. Then there's all these boxes that keep popping up on my screen. Install this, upgrade that. Fail to do so and you risk being strangled in your sleep by the Ghost of Vacuum Tubes Past. And when things go wrong and the screen freezes up, who do I blame? Spectrum? Hewlett-Packard? Satya Nadella? Computer illiterate that I am, I should blame myself actually. But I'm willing to learn, and one way to learn is by reading. Reading instructions, for example. Unfortunately, the concept of an instruction booklet is held with as much regard in Silicon Valley or Redmond, Washington as the New Testament is in Tel Aviv. The one thing that doesn't freeze up is the software's box-making machine, this one telling me that if I have a problem, go to so-and-so's web site. But how the hell do I get to that web site if the computer is frozen? I know, I know. Use your cell phone, and as a matter of fact mine is sitting next to the computer as I type. But think for a moment about the significance of that. In order to survive in the 21st century, you need not one but two Internets! I don't particularly envy the life of a cave man, but there's something to be said for a time when the only technologies were the wheel and fire, neither of which needed to be upgraded every five minutes.
If the above rant was a bit too much for you to get through, perhaps this clip will make you better understand the technical challenges I faced:
Arthur C. Clarke was off by only 19 years.
Finally, I 've had to work a lot of overtime the last few weeks--I know, a rarity in these troubled times--and that's kept me away. But I managed to eke out this post, and they'll be more eking out to come. More quips and quotations, more vital viewing, more pop cultural observations, and more in memoriams. Also, another (this time disease-free) chapter from my nonlinear novel-in-progress, the aforementioned Gigi Freeman. I hope you'll be there.
Oh, and by the way, this song has been running through my head these past few months. Take it away, Gloria:
Recently, I was at a Joseph Heller web site, deeply immersed in a discussion of Milo Minderbinder's place in literary history, when I suddenly noticed something in the lower right hand corner of the screen. It wasn't part of the site since it had nothing to do with Catch22. Here's what it said:
TEST YOUR IQ
CLICK HERE
I thought to myself, hey, it'd be kinda cool to know my IQ, so I clicked .
Ever since I clicked, a box has popped up on the screen every ten seconds asking me to, variously, try a new anti-wrinkle cream, take advice on how to pass a civil service exam, give a gold-plated pendent to that very special person, join a health club, try liposuction, dine at a new Chinese restaurant in a city I never heard of, take pills that will cleanse my body of impurities, buy a Humvee, rent a condo on the shores of Lake Huron, and buy a mousetrap that glows in the dark.
So I log in to this web site, and I get the site's name, but not the content, just blank space. I look at that blue bar at the bottom of the screen. You know, the one that gets longer, or grows, as you wait for something to materialize. Except this is stunted growth, the blue bar only about a third of the way there. I decide I don't feel like waiting, and I'll go someplace else. So I type a different word in that long rectangular box. Well, only half that sentence is accurate. I did physically type out the word, but nothing appeared in the box. I looked down at that blue bar, and it was growing once again. OK, I thought, I'll stay after all. Then once again it stopped. The blue bar was now about halfway where it was supposed to be. Determined not to patiently wait, I aimed the arrow icon to the X on the top of the screen, hoping to blank everything out, and start all over again. But instead of an arrow icon I had an hourglass icon. Ever try to blank out the screen with an hourglass icon? You can't. It won't work. So, left with no alternative, I just stared at the hourglass. And stared. And stared. And you know what?
I was staring at the screen, trying to come up with something to write about, when suddenly this pops up:
Due to lack of keyboard activity, you will be logged out in 59 seconds.
As you may know, I write this stuff in the library, and they don't want you to just sit there and stare at the screen. I'm not sure why. You're allowed to get a book or a magazine and just stare at it. No one expects you to activate the pages. For that matter, you can get a video, DVD, or CD and just admire the artwork.
Maybe they're worried about people checking out porn sites.
As long as there's still brown paper bags, I can get my porn elsewhere, thank you very much.
Damn, I still can't come up with something to write. Let me just think for a moment...or two...or three.
Due to lack of keyboard activity, you will be logged out in 59 seconds.
Jesus Christ!
All right. If it's keyboard activity you want, it's keyboard activity you're gonna damn well get.
Recently, I was at a Joseph Heller web site, deeply immersed in a discussion of Milo Minderbinder's place in literary history, when I suddenly noticed something in the lower right hand corner of the screen. It wasn't part of the site since it had nothing to do with Catch22. Here's what it said:
TEST YOUR IQ
CLICK HERE
I thought to myself, hey, it'd be kinda cool to know my IQ, so I clicked .
Ever since I clicked, a box has popped on to the screen every ten seconds asking me to, variously, try a new anti-wrinkle cream, take advice on how to pass a civil service exam, give a gold-plated pendent to that very special person, join a health club, try liposuction, dine at a new Chinese restaurant in a city I never heard of, take pills that will cleanse my body of impurities, buy a Humvee, rent a condo on the shores of Lake Huron, and buy a mousetrap that glows in the dark.
