So, I had just gotten back from dropping Danger Mouse off at kindergarten. When I walked back into the house, that ‘busted electronics’ smell was intense. Really intense. Like, the kind of intense that makes you go, “Uh-oh, do I have an electrical fire in the house somewhere?!”
No smoke, no heat (other than the ambient room temperature, which had climbed from 89 when I left to 91 when we got back in that room) (while the hallway just beside it mysteriously manages to remain 77 – what is UP with that?) (oh, and the upstairs bathroom? 95. I kid you not. 95 degrees in my bathroom. 92 in my adjoining bedroom) (hey, with the TV busted, I’ve got nothing better to do than wander around my house with the thermometer in my hand muttering, “Holy Christmas, this is ludicrous! How can it be 82 in the hall and 92 in the bedroom? Why is it 74 in the front room, and 91 in the back? Why doesn’t it help to have the doors open and the box fans going? Who killed Jimmy Hoffa and is he buried in my sandbox?!)
Anyway, back to the subject at hand: No smoke, no heat, but there is a faint yet weird clicking noise you can hear when you bend over the TV – say, to sniff at it to make sure that smell really is coming from it.
ACK! Whatever is wrong with the TV was still, uh, wrong-ing. Better unplug it…
Now. The TV is in an entertainment center which is smooshed against the wall between two shelves – both fully laden with tapes and magazines and books. To unplug the TV, I must pull the entertainment center away from the wall.
All I can say is, I wish I had had a camera on while I worked on it. Once I got the leverage right, it was a piece of cake. Before that, however, it was a sweaty, ‘surely it’s hotter than a mere 91 in here!’ gig. Which was not helped by having a giggling Boo Bug standing in the most inconvenient places possible shrieking things like, “WOW! You’re REALLY strong!!” or “Can I play with Play-Doh now?!” or “Look out mommy, you’re going to hit your foot again!” (followed, naturally, by, “Mommy, what does @*^&@(^& mean?”).
Eventually I wrestled the monster away from the wall, reached down behind it, fished the extension cord up from the depths and pulled the plug on my sick machine.
So now the TV is safely unplugged, the faint clicking noise emanating from it has stopped, the smell is already dissipating, and the damned air conditioner is on. I don’t care anymore. $500 PG&E bill? Small price to pay. It is hot, and humid, and ucky in here and I’m sick to death of it.
I’m also cranky, because I am suffering from CNBC withdrawals. It’s worse than coming off heroin. Well, OK, I might be exaggerating just a touch.
Just a wee little touch.
(Update: it is now 6:45 p.m. and I have yet to start dinner. Captain Adventure has been screaming and crawling up my legs for an hour now. I’m going to attempt once again to plop him into his high chair and placate him with food while I try to get dinner started. If successful, we may be eating by 8:00 or so. Well, either it will work, or he’ll be screaming for the next half hour solid and the police will probably be called: “I’m telling you, officer, somebody is torturing a baby over there!!” Not having the Baby Einstein Pacifier sucks lumpy moose piss through a straw. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, it is because I have given myself fatal burns trying to cook with an irate baby on my hip – did you see The Incredibles? That bit at the end, with Jack-Jack swarming all over Syndrome? That would be Captain Adventure right about now…)