What is up with the inanimate objects today?*

Seriously, I spent the day clattering around like Mr. Bean. This is the kind of day in which I’m especially fearful that there might be some teenager with a cell phone camera and a YouTube account. I’ve never had the desire to leave a mark on the world, to be remembered for anything — it would be irritating in the extreme to go down in the 15 second memory of the Internet as “Fat guy falls down in supermarket LOL1!!!”

Sure, 91 degrees outside, an air conditioner that’s been busted since last summer and would cost as much as a good used car to replace is one thing — but to have a fan that’s less than six months old crap out on me too? That’s just adding insult to heat-stroke.

How do all the inanimate objects in my life know when to gang up? What sort of secret negotiations have they been getting up to when I’m not around? Is it because I thumped the dashboard of my brother’s car when a fuse blew an it just stopped the fuck working while I was doing 70 on the freeway? It is because I called my work computer a “bastard” when it got a blue screen of death out of nowhere? Obviously, whatever object I insulted in the past has called on it’s brothers and sisters to fulfill some kind of treaty obligations that I know nothing about.