I am at the farm, so far successfully avoiding the prospect of hacking at the foliage that has- perhaps- obstructed the line-of-site from the dish on the side of the house to the Direct TV satellite hanging in geostationary orbit 22,236 miles deep in the southern sky.

The low gray clouds may have sapped a bit of my energy, but they say the sun is supposed to peak out this afternoon. As I waited for the Dazbog caffeine buzz to kick in, I saw a large dark shape emerge from the general direction of the offending dish. I marveled at the size and impressive girth of the first bird, which was shortly accompanied by the second prehistoric raptor, Edgar’s partner in crime.

They strolled majestically across the grass until I started banging on the window and inviting them at high volume to get the hell off the property. They looked disinterested, the oddly small heads with the beady dark eyes contempuously swiveling on the long dark necks, and then took to the sky in an amazingly languid leap, unfurling their dark wings to expose white feathers, and determinedly beating the air on the way toward the trees that mark the bounds of the property.
There is a separate dish for the internet, thankfully, and I am still connected to nearly unlimited sources of misinformation. But it was the television that had attracted my ire. When I turned on the satellite box the thing told me gravely that no signal was available, and wound up in close coordination with the satellite operations desk at the central trouble desk in Bhopal or wherever it is physically located.

At the end of the conversation, the trouble desk (I do not think his name is really ‘Chad’) told me that a technician is supposed to be here Tuesday morning sometime between 0800-1200. Surveying the dish, I suspect the problem might be vegetation that has grown and filled in the line-of-sight to the satellite from the dish, though why it chose to lose the signal this weekend before the Michigan-Wisconsin game while subjecting me to the first Presidential debate just last Monday.
So, with no signal from space, I listened to football the old-school way. I dialed in channel 82 on the SiriusXM radio, and enjoyed the game the way we used to, using only our ears to imagine the game. It was pretty cool, in a thoroughly retro way, and the Wolverines rewarded me with some drama and eventual victory. It was sort of strange though, sitting on the couch and looking at the fireplace while listening to the Wisconsin broadcast team at The Big House, who were not nearly as pleased with the way things were going as I was.

We are very space-age here at the farm for perfectly logical reasons. There are no terrestrial , services out here in the country. When I bought the farm nearly a decade ago I was still infused with energy and schemes to connect to the information grid despite the lack of connectivity to cable and phone lines.
I short order, I discovered that I could get everything direct from orbit except the cell signal for the phone, which still sucks. As far as Internet, television and radio, I was completely covered.

The prospect of no television means I will miss the murmur of NFL in the background while I try to catch up on office work long-deferred. The weekends are not long enough to get things done. I think I need to retire and fill up all the time with the important stuff that is never going to get done unless I attack it vigorously.

Which means that I ought to get out there with my saw and trimmer and see if I can clear a path to outer space. I think I would like to watch football later, and that requires work now. So on with it. I will take axe and saw to the trees to clear a path to space.

I will let you know how it goes.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com