The daily dirt...

A word of advice, never trust furniture that most likely retailed at Walmart. I currently have my computer set up on a desk that I found abandoned in my duplex, and I can only assume that it was made my a small, malnourished child of Indo-Asian descent twisting screws with throbbing fingers, and accordingly- it is a complete piece of crap. It recently boasted a convienent, slide-out keyboard tray which worked perfectly until I placed upon it said keyboard. The child laborer was clever, carefully adjusting the tensile strength of the tray to allow it to hold the weight of a keyboard, but no more. As I placed my hands on the keyboard, the combined weight proved too much for the tray, which tore asunder from the desk and smote the hardwood floor, along with my toe. It is here that the devilish cleverness of Anhari Punjab or Xing Huang-shu (as his nationality is currently undetermined) became most apparent, as the keyboard fell in such a way as to not only render it inoperable, but also to smash my favorite part- the carpal tunnel ramp, which will no longer snap onto the bottom. Hopefully his genius (or her genius- either way I'm not sure what gender those names are so they remain the same) will not go unrewarded, and someday a lucrative customer support job for Dell or Partypoker will be awarded him, or he will be crushed by a tank while attempting to free Tibet (once again depending on his nationality).

In other happenings, I made a kid throw up at junior golf camp today. As you may know, I teach junior golf for a city in Central Florida. However, this camp is basically daycare at a golf course, and I abuse my authority accordingly. The kids vary in ages from 7-12, with the occasional 14 year old who hasn't reached social maturity and has yet to realize that the cool kids no longer attend a city run golf camp filled with pre-pubescents. Anyway, to make a long story short, most of the kids have way too much energy and eventually tire of hitting balls at the senior citizen driving the range picker. When this happens, my favorite tactic is to have races and award the fastest kids a worthless prize, like being first in line for lunch (making sure the kids most desperate to eat have to wait the longest- *laughs evilly*) or a golf ball that I just picked out of a range bucket. I also make the races somewhat longer in length, such as running to the two hundred yard marker and back (which is a good quarter mile). Usually it works well, but somehow the combination of two races within half an hour and a heat index well over a hundred spelled doom for one of my fluffier contestants today. Here is the paraphrased conversation:

Me- "C'mon Dude! You're almost done! Let's pick it up!" (somehow every single parent decided to name their kid "dude" or "buddy", which works out perfectly for me)
Porker- "*wheeze* I'm just going to walk the rest, ok coach?"
Me- "If you walk, you won't get a prize..." (somewhere in the race I start channeling the marquis de sade)
Porker (running across the finish line, face flushed)- "Coach... I don't think I feel so go...."

A torrent of what I can only assume to be half digested eggo waffles, balogna, and ketchup (isn't that what kids eat?) erupts out of Porker's mouth, spattering my recently laundered, white sneakers and instantly killing a large section of impeccably manicured grass.

Me- "Uh.... uh... are you ok? ... maybe you should take a break... and drink some water? ok buddy?"

Porker appeared to be fine the rest of the day, but I'm praying there isn't an irate parent waiting for me when I arrive at work in the morning...

Some postscript- I switched the broken keyboard with the keyboard of one my computer illiterate, female roommates in order to post this. The keyboards are fairly similar (in that they have the same standard layout) so hopefully she will either not use her computer before I move, or just not notice...