Woke up yesterday morning to discover the DSL connection wasn't working.  Waited awhile, but finally got on the phone to the service provider.  At first, a recording informed me that their website would be most helpful in troubleshooting problems with DSL outages.  Hmmm, I thought.  Should have taken that as fair warning.  But I waited diligently on hold until a perky tech came on and asked the nature of the problem.  Told her several times in several manifestations of language - "My DSL isn't working.  I have no internet connection.  Computer no workee."

After being instructed to unplug this connection, reconnect it here, disconnect that thing over there, and stand on one foot while whistling Dixie on the armpit chorus, the perky little tech tells me, "Okay, now I want you to go to our website so we can troubleshoot some other things."

"Computer no workee," I repeated.  "DSL is down.  Internet connection kaputz."

"Well, yes, but from the website we can determine the precise nature of the problem based on a series of questions."

Was this girl deaf?  So I repeated my woes.  "DSL is down.  Interet connection nonexistent.  Enterprise plunging into atmosphere. Scotty has died and there is no one left to beam me out of here."

I don't think she ever really understood.  Kept insisting that I go to the website even when I was telling her the DSL was non functional.  Good thing I wasn't trying to troubleshoot a toilet.  Could get ugly.  And deep.  Fast.

By mid-afternoon, temperatures had soared to over 100 degrees, and the monsoon season had taken its toll on my patience.  Sweating is for race horses and clammy-handed Baptist ministers who always want to pat me on the arm.   I do not find sport, honor or pride in sweating, so when the swamp cooler abruptly gave up the ghost in a fit of screams that sounded like demonic laughter, I didn't even WANT to try to fix the damn thing myself, even though I am quite capable of doing so.  Picked up the phone and called The Elusive High Desert Repairman.  Was told by the first guy that he could send someone out on an emergency basis in 2 to 3 weeks.  The next guy's phone was disconnected or no longer in service.  The third guy had an answering machine that played Dueling Banjos.  Guys number 4 and 5 had "gone a'fishin".  Guy 6 wanted me to take the motor out myself, bring it to his shop about 30 miles away, where he promised to have it running again in a couple of weeks.  The rest of the jolly band of misfits either didn't answer at all, had been shut down for non-payment of bill, or did not speak English.

So call me a spoiled brat.  When I lived in San Diego, this was NOT the norm.  If I called someone who had bothered to place an ad in the yellow pages, chances were they answered their phone and sent someone out within the hour.  Imagine that - a business that actually shows up, solves the problem, takes my money, and hands me a receipt on their way out the door.

I am rapidly becoming convinced that 99% of the "workers" of today are inorganic zombies, created and hatched by the pods in the savage garden of entropy.

Aliens have eaten my roses and a rattlesnake I encountered on the road last night said he was late for a very important date, as he tipped his tiny top hat and slithered off the stage to make room for the next nonsequitur.

The rabbit hole has fallen into itself and the serpents have eaten their own apples.