does hope ever die?
F12 again, as the zombies are calling. While the coffee perks, I will give you the results of my investigation into The Case of the Missing Laptops. For they still have not come. Craigslist, my son's hallmate Phil, and the Bank of Montreal have all let me down. Isn't it interesting how you can be resigned to your fate, calm in the face of disappointment -- and still experience uprushes of hope? The fedex guy came to the door yesterday and my first thought was: At last! The laptops have come. Of course they hadn't. As I carried the box of books inside, and signed the plastic plate on the top of the portable thingie they use to record deliveries, I was cast down all over again, reliving my moment of realization. Reminded me of the time Miriam dumped me in high school -- days later, walking home from school, I would become suddenly suffused with warmth, as if I had only to turn my head to see her beside me, with her pony tail and alto sax case. Ahh, me. I think her name was Miriam.
So I went through my notes on the case of the laptops, made some phone calls, and have come up with the following data. I am publishing them here as a warning to anyone out there who may be trying to get a deal on laptops from Craigslist. Here's our suspect: Mike Ogden from Dartmouth, Nova Scotia (not Bill from BC at all -- the fiend misled me). He banks at BMO (who wouldn't give me his phone number or address. Curse their sense of customer privacy). His bank account number is 03087213117. He talks in a kind of lazy murmur, like it's too much trouble to form the whole word in his mouth before letting it out. If you run into this man, beware! Shun him. Or better yet, kick him in the goolies for me, and then shun him. Be careful which Mike Ogden you kick, though. I found several on the net, and they seem okay. There's a film producer Mike Ogden, a 3D artist Mike Ogden, a Mike Ogden who keeps snakes, and a Mike Ogden who collects art -- he's a dentist, and the picture -- titled "Genesis" -- at the side of this blog is from his collection. (I don't know why I decided to include it -- it's kind of cool, I guess.) Anyway, don't kick these guys. Kick my Dartmouth guy.
There. I'm done. Mike, I am free of you. I will hope no more.
But, uh, Miriam, if you are reading this, why don't you zip me a line, hmm?