Three Little Hammies

The image above pretty much sums up the ongoing Cold War in our house. I mean that literally. My husband is a rather stocky, muscular man, a Tolkien dwarf come to life. I swear if I got pregnant, I'd give birth to a 12 lbs pot roast. Anyway, all that muscle generates a lot of heat and so he's always hot. So up (or down?) the AC goes. Indeed, a Ham in his natural environment would probably be during the last Ice Age, in "balmy, sub–zero, shorts–weather." In contrast, I'm constantly cold. And since Ham doesn't appreciate—as I do—the hand–warming properties of his body for my frosty fingers and toes, I have to bundle up in my own house just to maintain my core temperature. 

Anyway, in the whirlwind of recent activity, I've neglected posting about three more Hammies that've been born. Actually, I've been taken by surprise with the popularity of these little guys—they may outsell my regular work! While they started as a ode to my abiding husband, they've transformed into a shared ode to those loved ones who endure our quirks. And it's been such a treat to hear your stories relating to a Hammie! So for these three new ones, let's set the stage…

I'm not the type to vigilantly maintain my computer in lean mean racing condition. As long as it goes well enough, I'm satisfied. I'm also not the type to fanatically stay current with an operating system. I tend to stick with one, get comfortable, and drive it into the ground, so to speak.

So here I was cruising along for years, doing all my records, articles, Boat publishing, photo editing—everything—and all while blithely neglecting to clean out my computer or update my OS. It could be said I just didn't run Tiger into the ground, I augered it in. 

This would have gone on for many more years had Paypal shipping not become a thorn in my side because of it. My version of Tiger became so outdated that Paypal shipping, among other things, became increasingly incompatible. Even the USPS site became quirky. But being obscenely spoiled by online shipping, the thought of waiting in line at the PO was (gasp) unthinkable. To rectify this, I had to (finally) update my OS to Snow Leopard and then to Lion.

To do that though meant some Mac house cleaning was in order—or to be more precise, a backhoeing of my Mac was in order. Now, in contrast, my IT–guru husband religiously keeps his machines in fine shape, de–fragging and de–thising and de–thating like a proper, devout geek. So while his machines sing, my Mac sobs. Trust me—only a Mac could tolerate my shameful treatment! So. All this meant I had to empty the trash can. 

For the first time in…oh…five years!

I clicked on that little magic trash can, and lo and behold—over 13,000 items sat there, patiently waiting for their destiny with oblivion. Wow. That's pretty impressive even by my incompetent standards. So I click "delete trash" and off it goes, finally doing what it's waited so long to do. And it takes 30 minutes to delete my trash can. 

I saunter back to Ham's mancave—casual, almost ambivalent—and nonchalantly quip that 13,000+ items are currently being deleted from my trash can. He looks up at me with a blank stare…then this Hammie erupts from his spastic incredulity:

Hammie #6: "You HAVE HOW MANY ITEMS TO DELETE?! HOW MANIEEEEEEE?!!"

But it doesn't end there. Of course not. In the process of deleting the trash can, I somehow managed to delete my browser, too. And one he'd spent some bit of time setting up for me months earlier. I still don't know how I did it, but it apparently had to do with icons and hard drives. So when I realized that my Internet "didn't work," back I saunter to the mancave, plaintively pleading with that all–to–familiar, "Hey…Haaaaam?…", which is just a polite way of informing him that I've got another gem of trouble just for him.

Hammie #7: "How…how…did you delete your browser? Seriously? How."

But wait—there's more! I also happen to be of the (futile) belief that if you click on something enough times it'll speed up the function of the command. That the amount of clicks works like circuit board accelerator. Ham has scolded me many times about my astute practice of this technique, but well…let's just say when electronic impulses take too long, off I go clicking like a crazy person.

It's no surprise then that this locked up some sort of vital function necessary for the upgrade. So what would have taken 15 seconds had I waited now required a reboot. Ham suffered in silence, standing behind me, his facing saying everything that needed saying:

Hammie #8: (thought bubble) —> "Yes, she did it again. I've told her a million times and yes…she did it. Again." (rolling eyes)

So there ya have it folks. Three fresh new Hammies. Put out and perturbed. Suffice to say, I got upgraded just fine and everything is working like a charm now, ready to get slogged down by another five years of chaff. All I can say is this: Mac had better not come out with another OS upgrade anytime soon because Ham may not survive it.

I was an accomplice in my own frustration.

~ Peter Shaffer

Into the Darkness...

As expected with any Ham–induced sweeping overhaul that entailed my participation, events that ensued over Memorial Day Weekend inspired Hammies. As for the aforementioned overhaul, it entailed an office revamp with a new Internet home network. I don't understand a single bit of it, other than the concept of "cable," so let's just say it was a major production.

 

(Above) Here's a Hammie with hubby's expression as he untangled the thick matte of computer cables I'd woven together over the years. The phrases, "Dear God!," and "How can you live like this?!" were heard repeatedly throughout the process.

Now here's the kicker: to construct this upgraded system, hubby had to crawl around in the crawlspace—under the house. This isn't something he's prone to do and, in fact, he dreads it so much, he's never done it before.

You see, his ancient and infernal nemesis resides there in vast, seething colonies, just waiting for the opportune moment to lurch forward to deflesh him.

Spiders.

The sheer loathing and revulsion he bears for these creatures is nothing short of astonishing. If I had a dime for every time I've had to leap to the defense of a tiny eight-legged cowering creature, I'd have bought us a trip to Antarctica where there are no spiders.

This is what a spider looks like to me.

This is what a spider looks like to Ham.

Now I should mention that I have this annoying tendency to blurt out highly inappropriate comments that just pop into my head. Inconveniently, if a moment is amusing (to me), my internal filter spontaneously malfunctions and out the comment comes. And believe me when I tell you that these thoughts are truly funny—but only to me.

So as my dear hubby spent a goodly amount of the morning psychologically preparing himself, he took a deep breath with braced trepidation in his eyes, steadying himself to enter The Den Of The Beast—and out my mouth blurts, "I wonder if you'll run into Shelob down there."

Fear has many eyes and can see things underground. 

~ Miguel De Cervantes