On the road to Orlando, spent the entire hour-plus drive doing that nasty bit of outstanding work I mentioned yesterday. That’s fine really, made me feel all Jetsons, driving down the highway on a laptop; got several perplexed stares from bearded rednecks in old trucks spraypainted camo for hunting. Not really, but they probably really do think I’m from the future… or “fancy” or something. Working at Sharaun’s folks’ place was a nightmare, dialup isn’t even internet, as far as I’m concerned. I managed to check some e-mail, and decided I’d had enough. I surfed the web to look for a wireless hotspot, free or not – just needed something close. Turns out I was out of luck though, as the wireless internet apparently hasn’t come to my old home town yet. Not a hotspot for 20mi. If they passed a law to affix transmit antennas to all rebel flag back-window decals, trailer homes, and shotgun racks- they’d have the best coverage in the US. And again, I kid y’allz… Florida is rad.
Now it’s midnight and we’re driving back from Orlando, all the stoplights are late-night blinky. I’m even more dead tired than I was earlier, and just want to crawl into bed. Got my work-work done on the drive over here before dinner, and now I figured I’d get the blog done on the way back. I’ve got this tiny headache in the front of my head, I’ve had it ever since the flight out – and I’m pretty sure it’s just my brain telling me I need some sleep. 57% battery on the laptop, so this isn’t going to be a particularly long one. I will, however, spice it up with some photos to pad it out. Speaking of, here they are:
Florida beach through scrub. |
Tyler commanding the expidition. |
Launching before the sun. |
How much better than an alarm clock? |
Not a computer to be found. |
The morning’s only catch. |
I’m thinking tomorrow I may try and head down to snap some pictures of old haunts, which is something I really wanna do while I’m here. I also want to cruise by the old house and check it out.
My dad called me early this morning, California time, while I was trying to take a post-fishing nap on the couch. He started out with the same chat, then all of the sudden asked me if I remembered when my mom’s birthday was. “I know it’s in November,” I said. I’m bad with remembering things, dates especially. For some reason, my folks’ birthdays are something I never managed to store in non-volatile memory. Knowing that, I have “reminders” set on all my computers, and my cell phone. The reminders pop up and tell me who’s birthday it is, and that I should send them a card (they give me about a week’s lead time). The cell phone reminder goes off on the day-of, as a “last chance” reminder so I can call if I somehow missed the two computer reminders.
Well, this year, I switched e-mail clients, and the portion of Outlook that used give the reminders has been eclipsed by Thunderbird, which I hadn’t setup reminders on yet. So, I missed the computer reminders. Then, Sharaun accidentally took my cellphone instead of hers one day, and it happened to be my mom’s birthday. The reminder popped up, but she forgot to tell me about it. And, that brings me to today… where my dad tells me that both my brother and I forgot to send my mom a card for her birthday. Ugh. How crappy must that be? A card from everyone but your two sons. I even called her a few days afterward, and talked to her like any other day… making it painfully obvious I had completely forgotten.
Well mom, I’m sorry. Sorry that I have to set reminders instead of knowing, sorry that I missed the reminders, and sorry that I forgot. I love you though, even if I am bad at dates. Forgive me this once, and I promise I’ll do better next time, OK?
Dave out.
Also written on this day...
- never long enough... - 2007
Not to worry Dave. I’ve missed my moms birthday twice in a row. I’m way worse than you with birthdays. Sure, she dis-owned me, but I learned a valuable lesson. Miss two of your moms birthdays and she will hate you forever. Enjoy your stay in Florida… hope you like coal – cause that’s all that you’ll get in your stocking this year.