I don't care what you read in the paper or see on the Today Show tomorrow AM. I do not know anything about the International Space Station being knocked out of its orbit. It was an innocent mistake I tell you. Innocent! I called my Congressman's 1-800-MY-HAIR-IS-ON-FIRE number as soon as it happened. Being the diligent man of the people he is, he went right to work even tho' it was after 8p.
As far as I know now, he got me an appointment with the folks in Geneva, Switzerland who draw up peace treaties, agreements, and accords. I really do not think my relationship with technology can be saved, but I hear they have a pretty good track record. I think they may be calling Jimmy Carter in to act as a mediator. Surely with all that fire power, technology and I can resume our newly established relationship. I just hope they won't call any of the secretaries I used to work with as witnesses.
I was sitting there at my sister's house, minding my own business, watching TV with my Dad till she and my brother-in-law got home. What you need to know is that my sister and BIL have an arrangement. He sorta wanted a motorcycle. She said as long as it looked like a big screen TV, he could sit on it and say, "Vroom, VRooom," all he wanted. To his credit, he saw the wisdom in her counsel. It may have had something to do with the fact that he has ridden his wallet down a 6-lane while being followed too closely by the drunk lady that had bumped him off his bike at a red light. I guess a big screen TV looks really good once you've done 360's thru a major intersection and gotten up with hardly a scratch thanks to one heavy duty wallet. We love that boy to pieces and are glad he survived without a scratch. We love the drunk lady because, thanks to her, we get to watch their big screen TV.
Recently, they got a BIGGER big screen. You know...the kind you have to sit on the 50-yard line to watch without going blind? And, they've got all the gizmo's that go with it: surround sound, power wash, in flight meals, and Rosie the Robot's cousin who pops out and gives you a cold drink every other commercial. I knew that stuff. But, I'm getting all comfy with my technical side, so I got too big for my britches. I decided to live large. I proved to my Dad and myself that I could change the channel and volume. I took a self-satisfied Barney Fife sniff and hit the mute button during a commercial. Or thought I did.
The show disappeared and a dialog box asked me to insert a CD or DVD or 8-track tape or something. I did what all self respecting technophobes would do. I hyperventilated and blindly jabbed at another button. Some other gobbledy gook came up which meant absolutely nothing to me, but I am SURE has something to do with the orbit of the International Space Station. Before the engineers at NASA had time to say, "Breaker, breaker. 10-4 Good Buddy," I jabbed at another button. And....gasp.....a totally BLUE screen appeared.
No around my house, if one of my 3 testosterone units say the words, 'BLUE SCREEN"...they are most certainly followed by, "OF DEATH"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh! Oh! Just shoot me now! I have killed my brother-in-law's motorcycle! I started looking around for a kitchen knife that could double as a Hari Kari sword so that I could get it over with before my BIL got home and realized I was the culprit. When that failed, I realized I had no choice but to employ the use of the 1 piece of technology on which I have a pretty firm grasp--the cell phone.
Swallowing all my pride and rustling up all my courage, I called my sister. We then began to speak in Pig-Latin to try and protect my BIL from finding out about his most prized possession (next to her) being you-know-what-color. I'm sure if you had been there, you would know what I know---the next Mission Impossible movie plot is going to revolve around that next 10 minutes of my life! Did you know it is physically possible for a remote control to have FIFTY-SEVEN buttons? F-I-F-T-Y-S-E-V-E-N. I know because I counted the buttons on theirs! You have to be the pilot of a 757 to need to know how to push more buttons to make something work. Time was shorter than that string that burns up after the match flares at the beginning of every MI #1-#5 movies.
Basically, the cure involved a combination of traditional folk dances, incantations from the back bayous of Louisiana, and a few medicinal 'herbs' thrown in for good measure. I lost about 15# of sweat, but that blue screen finally morphed back into tonight's episode of America's Got Talent. By the time they got home, Dad and I were rocked back like nothing had ever happened. What my BIL doesn't know won't hurt me.
Then, my sister uttered those fatal words: "This isn't by any chance going to end up on your blog, is it?"
So, in case it matters...you did NOT hear this story from me, and you have NO idea who, how, what, or when that space station wobbled in its orbit.