The Saved By the Bell / Friends Connection (A weak one)

So the last few mornings, while I’ve been doing my morning workout routine, I’ve been watching a lot of Saved by the Bell.  Much to my delight, it has been on in some ridiculous three-hour marathon pretty much every weekday morning, at the same time that I’m up and doing my morning routine.  For the last two weeks, every morning has been kind of a trip down memory lane, in some respect.

However, the episodes aren’t exactly placed in any particular order; some have been right after the Miss Bliss era, and they’ve jumped as far as into the College Years afterward.  Not that it’s any big deal to me since I’ve pretty much seen every single episode, but it did make me notice something, which is the chief reason why I decided to kill my last day on this particular assignment in Lithonia (which Lithonia sucks; when a Starbucks fails, you know the region is devoid of any success) with writing about a comparison . . .

Saved by the Bell was the show Friends, before Friends was Friends.

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Photographical goodbye to the Samsung Instinct

Right before I got back from Virginia, I noticed that the touchscreen on the Samsung Instinct I’d been using for the last 21 months was no longer responding to my touches.  Frustrated, I went through the steps to alleviate any glitchy behavior; rebooting the phone, popping out the battery, putting it on its charger, but to no avail, my phone was not working properly.  I couldn’t help but notice a water / moisture spot on the screen, and rubbing it did nothing; somehow, it was underneath  the screen, how it go there, I had no idea, but I was resigned to blaming the problems on it.

I carefully lifted the transparent safety screen off of the phone, and equally carefully wiped away the spot.  I gingerly applied the screen back onto the hardware, and lo and behold, key strokes began responding again.  Upon initial diagnosis, everything seemed to be working fine; except for the small nuance that anything at the top 1/10th of the screen was registering low – in other words, trying to push “2″ on the numeric keypad would result in “5″ being entered.  Finding this behavior unacceptable, I proceeded to perform surgery on my phone again.

This was not a good idea.  Somewhere along the line, I severed some foil-thin circuitry, and the phone would no longer register any key strokes, unless I was pushing into the depths of Hades into the top-left corner of the physical phone itself, where the severed circuitry likely occurred.

Long story short – this was not the first and only time I have been frustrated with the Instinct, as with the ushering of the next generation of Android phones, it has been more or less abandoned by Sprint and Samsung themselves, and has suffered a litany of inconsistencies, poor performance, and problems that are clearly not going to be fixed any time soon.  The dead touchscreen was the final straw, and I decided to cut my losses, and re-up for two more years with Sprint, and I am now one of the few privileged techno-geeks to have acquired an HTC Evo4G.  Seriously, as far as Best Buys are concerned, this was the last one in all of Metro Atlanta.

So for lack of a better term, good riddance to the Samsung Instinct, onto the future with my Evo.  It is a little melancholy, because I have had Samsung phones, supporting the motherland for the last nine years, and this is the first time I will have a phone of a different maker.  Unfortunately, poor performance is poor performance, and loyalty can’t be expected to continue with it in tow.  However, things weren’t always bitter and upsetting with the Instinct – it definitely has seen a good share of good times in the 21 months that I had it, and I’ve been wise enough to capture a lot of it on its diminutive 1.3MP built-in camera.

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True pain

It is a widely known fact that when it comes to needing to hold it, that men are vastly superior to women.  I have a belief that men are always capable of assessing their need to urinate based on a scale of one through ten.  We tend to really only seek the need when it begins to encroach at five or so; unless we’re bored, antsy, and feeling the need to move about, pretty much anything underneath five can typically be ignored and held in.  Once past five, it would be a good idea to seek out the nearest commode.

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Photos: Baltimore Trip

Some close friends and I make a trip up to filthy Baltimore, Maryland, to see some baseball at Camden Yards, ironically one of the better parks in the Majors.  Naturally, with the legendary Pickle’s Pub across the street, this devolves into a day of excessive drinking, being obnoxious baseball fans, and getting really trashed.  Good times were certainly had, looking back at things, though.

When it’s this hot, people go a little crazy

And had I taken this picture 20 seconds sooner, it would have read “103F.”  Seriously, since I moved to Atlanta in 2003, I don’t think there’s ever been a summer this hot before.  And it’s only the end of June, and there is always the possibility that it could feasibly get hotter as the summer progresses.

Seriously, it’s pretty ridiculous how hot, miserable, humid and muggy it’s been the last few weeks.  I hardly want to go outside, and I’m amazed that I’ve still made the effort to trudge out of bed every morning, and jog, while the heat and misery is still a little bearable.  But I’m finding myself being influenced by the weather on all the things that I decide to do with my days.  People, with me as no exception, go crazy when things get too hot.

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