That’s what a certain someone tells me, anyway. The Good Witch says this in the spirit of friendship, a little worried because some of my recent posts have been a bit on the negative side. This is exactly what I needed to hear, and this is why today’s blog is going to be so very positive and uplifting. Okay, maybe not uplifting; that’s a pretty distant horizon for a blog like this. And maybe not very positive, but it will be mostly positive.
That doesn’t mean I won’t express any quibbles today. I may mention, lightly and in passing, that my honey’s second pair of ridiculously-expensive Darn Tough Vermont socks has now blown a hole in one of its heels, too, but (positive, positive) what an interesting life lesson he has learned. He’d already learned similar life lessons about Arizona’s Greatest Hot Dogs and Tucson’s Best Pizza and many, many other things, but he remains dazzlingly receptive to empty promises. As one example, I promised to make a homemade supper this evening. Ha ha ha ha!
Nor will I grumble about the shoes that are pictured in the upper left-hand corner of this blog. These very colorful shoes were discovered when I was at a footwear emporium this week. I admit, I did a doubletake when I saw them. I took a picture to preserve the memory, then texted the photo to the Good Witch: So tempted to buy these shoes for the wedding, but the clown would miss them. When I saw them, I laughed at the price tag. And doesn’t everyone say that laughter is the best medicine? (Disclaimer: If you have a health condition that requires actual medicine, then laughter is not the best medicine. As an aside, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.)
Let me tell you about a few things I like. One is the Dell laptop computer I’m using to type this blog. It was about as cheap a machine as Dell offers, cheaper still because I got it as a Black Friday deal, and I don’t care that it lacks all of the bells and whistles. It’s perfect for writing stories and doing internet research. Its biggest plus is that it’s not the HP laptop that it replaced, a several years-old curse which came loaded with bloatware. It harangued me constantly, pushing HP products that I learned to despise as the years trickled past. “Why won’t you die?” I asked it some months before I found the Dell. That’s when I realized one of us had to go.
Slid a little down the positivity scale there. Let me brush myself off and try again.
Another thing I like is Best Buy’s policy on recycling electronics and appliances for their customers. By the time 2021 had rolled around, they’d already recycled two BILLION pounds of electronics… including my miserable HP laptop. I asked if they could start the recycling process by driving a stake in its wee computer heart. Out of politeness, the salesman laughed. And doesn’t everyone say that laughter is the best medicine? (Disclaimer: If you have a health condition that requires actual medicine, then laughter is not the best medicine. As an aside, do not buy an HP laptop computer.)
That doesn’t mean I won’t express any quibbles today. I may mention, lightly and in passing, that my honey’s second pair of ridiculously-expensive Darn Tough Vermont socks has now blown a hole in one of its heels, too, but (positive, positive) what an interesting life lesson he has learned. He’d already learned similar life lessons about Arizona’s Greatest Hot Dogs and Tucson’s Best Pizza and many, many other things, but he remains dazzlingly receptive to empty promises. As one example, I promised to make a homemade supper this evening. Ha ha ha ha!
Nor will I grumble about the shoes that are pictured in the upper left-hand corner of this blog. These very colorful shoes were discovered when I was at a footwear emporium this week. I admit, I did a doubletake when I saw them. I took a picture to preserve the memory, then texted the photo to the Good Witch: So tempted to buy these shoes for the wedding, but the clown would miss them. When I saw them, I laughed at the price tag. And doesn’t everyone say that laughter is the best medicine? (Disclaimer: If you have a health condition that requires actual medicine, then laughter is not the best medicine. As an aside, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.)
Let me tell you about a few things I like. One is the Dell laptop computer I’m using to type this blog. It was about as cheap a machine as Dell offers, cheaper still because I got it as a Black Friday deal, and I don’t care that it lacks all of the bells and whistles. It’s perfect for writing stories and doing internet research. Its biggest plus is that it’s not the HP laptop that it replaced, a several years-old curse which came loaded with bloatware. It harangued me constantly, pushing HP products that I learned to despise as the years trickled past. “Why won’t you die?” I asked it some months before I found the Dell. That’s when I realized one of us had to go.
Slid a little down the positivity scale there. Let me brush myself off and try again.
Another thing I like is Best Buy’s policy on recycling electronics and appliances for their customers. By the time 2021 had rolled around, they’d already recycled two BILLION pounds of electronics… including my miserable HP laptop. I asked if they could start the recycling process by driving a stake in its wee computer heart. Out of politeness, the salesman laughed. And doesn’t everyone say that laughter is the best medicine? (Disclaimer: If you have a health condition that requires actual medicine, then laughter is not the best medicine. As an aside, do not buy an HP laptop computer.)
I also like this mug. I like it so much, I showed it to my very nice neighbors. They didn’t understand why I was a fan, but they smiled politely.
Finally, I think I’m starting to fall for my Eufy RoboVac 30. I got the Frisbee-shaped device because dust bunnies were inhabiting every corner of my living room. I felt I could either spend my time vacuuming or doing something I found more rewarding – which is, frankly, everything else except for making supper this evening. The machine boasts that it “Works with Wi-Fi”, which is swell, except that I don’t want it to work with wi-fi. Using wi-fi would require that I be involved. Since the robotic vacuum cleaner came with a remote control, I decided to use that, instead. Pushing “A” for Auto Clean, I left the machine to do its job on its own.
Without direction, without instruction, without any course to follow, it traveled about randomly on my tile floors. It wasn’t real loud, it wasn’t completely quiet, and it frequently repeated the path it was taking, kind of like me when I get distracted. I wasn’t hopeful. Rather than watch it fail at its task, I went online to check Eufy’s return policy.
Ninety minutes later, or so, the Frisbee had returned to its docking bay. The floors looked markedly better; the dust bunnies had fled. When I opened the machine’s dust collector, it was filled.
“Best Buy’s not getting its hands on you,” I told the RoboVac, reassuringly. Now, if only I could teach it to cook.
Finally, I think I’m starting to fall for my Eufy RoboVac 30. I got the Frisbee-shaped device because dust bunnies were inhabiting every corner of my living room. I felt I could either spend my time vacuuming or doing something I found more rewarding – which is, frankly, everything else except for making supper this evening. The machine boasts that it “Works with Wi-Fi”, which is swell, except that I don’t want it to work with wi-fi. Using wi-fi would require that I be involved. Since the robotic vacuum cleaner came with a remote control, I decided to use that, instead. Pushing “A” for Auto Clean, I left the machine to do its job on its own.
Without direction, without instruction, without any course to follow, it traveled about randomly on my tile floors. It wasn’t real loud, it wasn’t completely quiet, and it frequently repeated the path it was taking, kind of like me when I get distracted. I wasn’t hopeful. Rather than watch it fail at its task, I went online to check Eufy’s return policy.
Ninety minutes later, or so, the Frisbee had returned to its docking bay. The floors looked markedly better; the dust bunnies had fled. When I opened the machine’s dust collector, it was filled.
“Best Buy’s not getting its hands on you,” I told the RoboVac, reassuringly. Now, if only I could teach it to cook.
RSS Feed
