A series of minor calamities has beset the House of Wandering Barque. Not Job-style “lost the farm and now must declare bankruptcy” calamities, but acutely painful while they last nonetheless.

First, my computer is having a nervous breakdown. My precious iBook, about which I evangelize as I tote it along on business trips, has let me down. The source of the problem is the whimsically-named “kernel panic,” which puts me in mind of animated popcorn rather than the decidedly more somber image of my consulting career going down the toilet. Basically, I can’t access the Applications folder, all other operations are slow, and I can’t log in under the babysitter account. And, periodically, the kernels panic thusly:

kernel panic

Not pretty.

Luckily, I have several back-up PCs to take to client meetings, but they’re all PCs. I can’t use my nifty Acme pink polka dot bag, which inspires admiring comments on elevators and airplanes, upon which I enjoy telling people, “It’s only for Macs” and watching their faces fall. Now I’m carrying a lumpy black Targus like everyone else in the universe.

Minor crisis #2: Aitch is sick. He has something called hand, foot, and mouth disease, which is unrelated to hoof and mouth disease or to foot-in-mouth disease. The thing that Aitch has features a fever, general malaise, and sores on the mouth, hands, feet, and butt. Aitch has been understandably crabby, wakeful, and reluctant to eat. The trouble is that I have it, too. The adult manifestation is usually milder than the toddler version, so I’m lucky to skip the fever and the hand, feet, and butt sores. I do, however, have the mouth sores, “malaise,” and an overall achiness that may be the result of the fever, sleep deprivation, or old age.

Minor crisis #3: Work has been going gangbusters. Normally a good problem to have, but Husband has been traveling a lot and I have to juggle baby and dog care solo with a full workload. All this during 90-degree heat and 90+% humidity, leaving all but three rooms in our house uninhabitable.

But as I was driving into work today, practically comatose and wincing from the erupting sores in my mouth, a little bright spot showed itself on the miserable horizon. A thought occurred, which I whimpered to myself throughout the day whenever things got tough:

Now I can have Lin Brehmer in the morning.

Let me explain. Lin Brehmer is a disk jockey at WXRT, a terrific independent radio station based in Chicago. I listened to Lin neary every morning of the three years I lived in the city. It’s hard to quantify Lin’s appeal—he seems like a nice, musically knowledgeable, mildly funny and personable guy who’s a complete pleasure to listen to. (He had the distinction of interviewing Bono early in his career and calling him “Boh-noh.”) When Husband and I decided to move to the northeast, the loss of Lin was actually the one thing that gave us pause in our decision. For years, WXRT’s parent company, Infinity Broadcasting, has evilly resisted streaming on their website. Finally, they’ve relented, but they use a proprietary plug-in that works only on Windows. Thus, I haven’t been able to access WXRT in the morning through any of the Macs in the breakfast area. But now that I have my loaner laptop installed in the kitchen, tomorrow morning is going to be Breakfast with Brehmer, baby.

Incidentally, WXRT is where I first heard the great “Talking Seattle Grunge Rock Blues,” where the titular line, originated by Kurt Cobain, was repurposed to such great effect.