ZAPRANOTH is god

The doorbell rings.

That's one loud motherfucker in one small room. I get up, away from my baby, my laptop, which has failed again to get on the Internet. NAVARRE is still down.

Behind the door is the cablevision man.

"Installation," he bellows out. I let him in with his equipment. He sets up noisily and I step back, out of his way, watching. He goes to the cable outlet on the wall, checks it, then sees my router next to it. He picks up the router, looks at its back, looks at it's top, noticing that it's on. HE KNOWS WHAT I'M PLANING TO DO. He sits the router down next to the outlet and then begins his work. Now if he was going to connect the cable modem that he brought to the router he would have rested it down on the floor next to it. Instead he runs a cable clear across the room to my desk and my laptop, sets up the modem on the table, which is already cramped for space. He then connects the modem to the laptop. There must be some rule not to connect the modem to a wireless router. Probably the cable company's way to keep their users from doing exactly what I plan to do.

I see. He leaves and returns with the Super, talking to him, and the super has to leave my door yawning open as they speak. Guess who comes out of her door and sets herself up right behind the Super, staring unabashedly into my room. Paula. I wanted to throw something at her. Her nosy ass just staring, looking around for something. Presently she walks off, her head, moving like a waning full moon. The technician finishes and leaves. I slip him a five dollar bill. I'm not rich you know.

I jump on my system and the Internet pops right up. I go to the modem, disconnect it, place it under the table, and then go over to the corner for my router. I return to beneath the table, connect the wireless router to the modem and then BAM! ZAPRANOTH starts hemorrhaging data into the air. Both, the lights on the modem and wireless router, flashing frantically. ZAPRANOTH LIVES! I hop on my laptop and check the connection, an ultra hot and screaming 54Mbps, and an EXCELLENT signal strength. It should be excellent, the fucking router is right under the table from it.

I get the fuck to work, sending out Emails, blogging and the lot. I am insanely happy once more. And this happiness I'm going to hold onto. I'm going to pay my cable bill religiously. I want to keep this connection for as long as I'm allowed to live here...which is...I still don't know.

I check the router's status and find that there is a user on it already called: 'MacBookPro'. I bet that's Cautious Carl just down the hall. Have at it brother! At least one person is enjoying the connection. Then another latched on: 'SpecialEd-PC'. A school? I'm going to my therapist today, Dr.G. and turn off my laptop. I wonder what kind of user traffic will I have when I return.

I ride the Way to my therapist, Dr. L., walk across half of town (once again, something that Dr. A. would be proud of) and sit in her office, going on about my week, my dutiful trip to my parents, all the fun I had on my holiday week, and then I touched upon D2theL's and Dimitri the M's show on Friday. I really thought it would slide by, but Dr. L. jumped on it like a cat on a canary. Yeah, she drew it right out of me. The fact that A/P might be there. MIGHT, I say!

Alcohol/Pot.

Dr. L. has an ear and a nose for these things. That's why she's my alcohol counselor. She's really keen. "So after the show, then what?" What do you mean what? "Will you have made your decision to go back to drinking, drinking with the control that you've always desired, or quitting drinking altogether?" Do I have to come to a decision? "No, but you seem to be moving in a certain direction. That's what we are trying to do here, to get you to make a choice." I see. "After this big blowout, you could be coming to your own conclusions about your relationship with substances."

I think she means that we'll soon be drawing our sessions to a close. It's time for me to be moving on. I'm not cured of anything, I've only made a decision. What that decision is, I believe I know. And once I come to it and state it to her, my heaven here will be gone. I'll be left with Nurse G. Oh joy. I bid Dr. L. goodbye and head directly back home to get online and check ZAPRANOTH to see what visitors I had using my Internet connection. MacBookPro and SpecialEd-PC were still connected, joined by a new user: User-PC. You go boys.

I surf, answer a ton of emails, IM with Oz and eat. Night begins to fall about me. I bear down harder on the Internet, the later the more connected I get. The night bleeds...I'm digging it.

AND THEN THE DOORBELL RINGS!

What the Fuck?? Who in the world? Igor? I get up, put on a shirt because it's fucking hot in my room and open the door. Outside is one of the three people that moved in with me from the box. I'll call him Raoul because I can't remember the name I called him by before. What's up? "Hey Papi, could you lend me eight dollars until Friday because...," and then comes a long sob story. Now how am I going to come up with eight dollars? Is there such a thing as an eight dollar bill? Do I have a stack of ones in my pocket? I slip him a ten spot. "Do you want change, Papi?" No, give me a ten when you get the money to me. He thanks me and strolls down the hall.

What the fuck?? I come over here with these two knuckleheads and now I'm their local ATM? These motherfuckers are off the hook. That's all I can say.

Hobobob bank of New York.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/01/zapranoth-is-god.html
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