(Warning: There is nothing here about real estate today. If you do decide to brave the following wall of words waiting for that all-important segue, you’re out of luck.)
Despite our best efforts, stuff happens. And the stuff I am talking about here is the stuff you don’t expect. And the stuff you don’t expect I am talking about here is not the good stuff, like the ghost of Ed McMahon appearing at my doorstep holding a giant sweepstakes check made out in my name or an IRS agent calling to say I needn’t bother paying taxes this year ‘cause they have already collected enough, but the other stuff.
Jim “the Realtor” Klinge (if that really is his name) threatened recently to have me arrested for loitering here. He’s got a point. But I have an excuse.
Time Warner ate my blog.
That’s not really true. Like me, my dog has been nowhere near this blog in a month, but I have to blame someone. What is true is that Time Warner and their nifty cable offering that allows me to access the “Internets” surprised me this week with a little unexpected fun that temporarily diverted my attention. Check Merriam Webster and you will see that “temporarily” means “for a duration not less than 72 hours, excluding three trips to Best Buy and a couple of short breaks to hurl expletives like ‘Darn it’ and ‘My, isn’t this unfortunate?'”
On Tuesday, my Internet provider decided to pull a little outage. This was bad timing, because I was preparing for a listing appointment at the time. No Internet means no MLS access, which means no comps. Now, I’m a trained professional, so this was not a big deal, as I am blessed with back-up capability. But as I smugly continued with my online tasks, pausing only occasionally to revel in my superiority and foresight for having access to a seven-year-old broadband doohickey that connects me to “America’s most reliable wireless network,” I started to hear reports from others that their Internet had been restored. Not so at Chez Berg.
Two hours later, after a series of reboots and more reboots, having been exposed to so many blinking lights I was now belting out the soundtrack from Saturday Night Fever, I realized that the very heart of our wireless command hub – the router (or, as we call it, the Magic Box) had been killed dead.
Electronics don’t live forever; I know this. How long, you ask? In my case, the answer lies in how long it takes to navigate ones way through the check-out line having declined the extended warranty. In the case of the Magic Box, however, I had actually gotten it home, out of the box, successfully connected other magic devices, and had enjoyed its glory for many years before it passed into the land of the antiquated. I considered myself lucky.
Armed with my $20 good-customer reward coupon and now a veritable boatload of holiday cheer, I set my headings on the nearest Best Buy.
Soon I was back home and was able to emerge from the profanity zone relatively unscathed, our wireless internet having been restored much to the delight of my husband who had spent the morning conducting business (checking the weather in Kyrgyzstan) through his smart phone and my daughter who hadn’t changed her profile picture in at least four hours and was now having an anxiety attack. Family harmony having been restored, it was time for me to print that listing presentation. But, wait!
Our wireless print server only knew how to talk to the old Magic Box. A quick review of the “manual” gave me the information I needed. “Don’t attempt to plug power cord into your left nostril,” “Do not place device within forty-seven kilofurlongs of an incinerating device such as an incinerator or Phoenix,” and “In the event your old Magic Box dies and you have to buy a new one, reconfigure.”
Now, it seems that reconfiguration requires that you know some secret codes. The manual gives these codes mysterious names like “IP,” Submask,” “Gateway,” and “Persephone.” And, through my research, I was able to identify a list of possible correct answers for my device:
- P. Diddy
The bottom line is that it took me approximately 32 hours on Wednesday to determine that only two people still have wireless print routers – me and the curator of the Museum of Stuff You Can’t Buy Anymore.
It seems that, now, printers themselves are wireless. Who knew? Priceless! ($299 plus ink cartridges, to be exact).
And now we have a new printer, the software for which crashed my accounting software. And now we have new accounting software, thanks only to the collective efforts of the entire adult population of New Delhi who were able to retrieve my files from the black void. (Note to our agents: If you receive a 1099 from me saying you made $4 gazillion dollars and 72 cents this year, don’t argue. I’m pretty sure it’s right.)
It happens to us all, the unexpected. But isn’t it super fun how surprises tend to breed more surprises and always at the most inopportune times?
So, while Jim “I write a new post on my own blog every thirty minutes and you suck” Klinge was taunting me for my absence here, I discovered that I am no longer getting notified when someone comments. For this, I blame this guy:
It’s not really Drew Meyers’ fault, of course. He was just doing me a favor. Somewhere during the course of being a real estate agent, our blogging platform released a couple of updates. Where I had been using Worpress 1.0, the “Flintstones” edition, we have now been upgraded to the newer, more popular WordPress 1,472.20. Naturally, one would expect some unexpected things to occur.
Ain’t technology grand?