phosfate

My poor alarm clock -- the one that made bird noises and got in the fight with the cardinal that time -- committed suicide rather than continue to live with me. Okay, it didn't. But the turn-the-alarm-off switch won't turn off anymore, and that's, like, one of yer key switches in an alarm clock. So it got a dignified burial at sea. If the kitchen wastebasket counts as the sea. For small electronics funereal purposes, it does.

So I got the other one out of the other bedroom. It's a sort of round boombox thingie, like Jigglypuff crossed with the Death Star. Very fancy, but very cheap because it was a floor model off a Target end cap. With no manual. And a lot of buttons and functions: Alarm A, Alarm B, nap alarm, set the time, set the alarm time, set the other alarm time, tune the radio, turn up the volume, pick the CD track, pause, beverage warmer, lotion dispenser, and dimensional portal interface. There's also a bizarre little umbilical noodle that I think is the radio antenna.

I hope it's the radio antenna. If not, when I come home tonight, the reading lamp will be pregnant. On the other hand, we need the bulbs. What the hell was I talking about?

Oh. Well, I figured out how to set the alarm to work the CD player, and popped in the Noir soundtrack. And never thought about the necessity of checking the volume setting.

I am really, really awake now.

Here's the song, as seen on TV: