Requiem for Inspiron 5150

I think it's time to say adieu
To find a worthy replacement new
Good Earth tea I went to sip
Sweet, spicy aromic blend to tip
Furiously typing pages of poems
Cutting, pasting, not letting them roam
Stretching my back, my eyes were red
Upon return, I found my laptop DEAD
I counted my blessings that I have saved
"Word Weavers' stuff wasn't lost," I raved
Playing tech geek until someone arrives
To see if I could bring it alive
A scavenger hunt for program disks
Found Eric's set, not an authorized risk
Into closets, under the bed, searching three hours
"Eureka, they're found," I ecstatically hollered!
Pleading a prayer, I dug up my smarts
Hoping for a computer resurrection start
A whirr, some clicks, messages flashing
"Can't find a hard drive," restart, then crashing
Doesn't sound good, trusted old friend
You've seen me through projects I'd penned
Photo shoots, blogging, IM, and email
Web searches, publishing, and bargain hunt sales
You were the link to close the generation gap
Destroying the adage of old dog's bad rap
I'll lay you to rest, recycle you green
Remembering the memories and places we've seen
Your memory has failed but mine is intact
Thankful for jump drives and my CD stack

Contributed by Ann.

Pirate Radio

Driving home from Easter at my sister's place outside of Virginia, Minnesota, I stumbled upon something incredible. Since I don't own an iPod or a CD player, I fiddle with my car's radio tuner constantly. On Sunday afternoon, just south of Cloquet on Interstate 35, I discovered a pirate radio station blaring European House Techno. I listened for thirty minutes (20 minutes on the road and 10 minutes stopped at an abandoned gas station) and didn't hear a single commercial, station id, or promotion. I lost it just north of Barnum as the trance beats were consumed by Top 40 country. If you ever find yourself between Barnum and Cloquet on a clear Sunday afternoon, turn your dial to 97.7. You'll hear something that shouldn't exist anymore.

The Sharks Always Come

Thoughtful emails make my day working as a low-level federal bureaucrat. I received the following message from my friend, Chris, a few days ago.

"I was re-reading Old Man and the Sea today and, as he's staring to sail home with his fish lashed to his skiff, I hoped the sharks wouldn't come. I was actually optimistic that the version I was reading would end with the old man returning successfully to port with the fish intact. No sharks. Needless to say, this was not the case."