A bad apple day and some Miami out takes

So I had a frozen weekend. So did my computer.

All of a sudden Saturday afternoon it starts typing bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb and like Rosie O’Donnell on The View or her equally annoying nemesis Donald Trump won’t shut the fuck up and give it a rest.

So I reboot and it won’t let me log back in.

Great, I think. I am being punished for looking at dirty pictures and for wasting so much time on dreary afternoons online when I could be writing a novel or making videos for You Tube.

Since I have a Mac, I call the closest Apple Store. Only thing is you can’t really talk to anyone on the phone at there. You get one of those royal pain in the ass recordings where you have to push the right button to get where you want.

I hit the one for service, which puts me in touch with India. I think he said something about it probably being the keyboard (and I did spill just a small drop of soda on the “a” key area), but he was hard to hear from across the ocean.

Then he asks for the serial number, which I learn is inside the CD drive door. Only thing is it is written in very small type under the part that looks like a cup holder.

I tell him I can’t read the damn thing. He hangs up.

Steve Jobs sucks just as bad as Bill Gates, but people think he’s cooler because he wears black turtle necks with jeans and dropped acid. They are all monsters, I tell you, just like Google, whicch changes things like how you get to your blog, to make it "better, faster, easier," and for them to collect more information. Yeah, computer stuff can really piss a guy off.

I frantically try to find a repair place at 3 p.m. on a Saturday. I reluctantly call Best Buy, another evil place where teens try to get you to subscribe to magazines you don’t want and ask for your zip code to feed the mother ship.

Best Buy’s geeks won’t touch a Mac, which is probably a good thing.

I call another geek place and the guy was helpful. He told me Macs rarely get viruses, to try a new keyboard first, and if it still doesn’t work call or stop in first thing Monday.

So, since I am pissed at Apple, I reluctantly go to Best Buy. The only Mac compatible ones were a one for more than $100, a wireless one, and the one I got, which is ergo dynamic, which means I am typing with my wrists on a small hill, which is not really comfortable but apparently way better for my dainty little wrists.

Other than that weekend highlights included almost breaking an ankle tripping down stairs to do laundry (which means I would have starved to death, as I live alone - OK I’m looking for sympathy) and SUnday morning almost breaking my nose on someone’s skull playing basketball. Hey, he’s short and my nose isn’t.

Strangely, I feel like I am breathing better since it happened. And now I know what a frontal lobotomy might feel like.

All the above is probably due to the fact I am suffering from a disorder I just made up (in the hopes of attracting a Big Pharm company to throw money my way to develop another unnecessary med ) called PADs - Post Adventure Disorder.

It’s the feeling you get within 72 hours of a good vacation upon returning to an office where the heat is turned as high and dry as grandma’s at Thanksgiving.

It makes you want to liven things up by playing practical jokes like convincing a chubby photographer that he has to pose as Cupid to illustrate a really hard hitting Valentine’s Day story.

And mostly it’s just a feeling that life can be more interesting.

Another symptom is dry itchy eyes and nostalgia for a week gone by.

So here are some Super Bowl week out takes:

A nice touch at the ocean view condo where we stayed: there was a copy of The Great Gatsby in a stand next to a futon.

My favorite cards passed out in South Beach to lure rubes to parties: one for rapper Young Jeezy at Metropolis kicking it old school with a Miami Vice theme party. Special guests included Warren Sapp and Chad Johnson and Randy Moss which begs the question - was there any air left in the room? The ad promised 50 exotic dancers and video vixens. And the first 100 ladies got in free.

Not free: the chance to hangout at Chakra’s Leather and Laces soiree with Jenny McCarthy and Carmen Electra for the low, low price of $200. Terrell Owens was invited to that one which went reverse bankers hours, 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. I am still kicking myself for not spending the coin on this one.

Favorite handy Super Bowl game day flier: an orange trifold called What’s His Name, Anyway? with a roster list for both teams, handed out by Jews for Jesus.

Coincidences you find in Florida: My buddy Butch watched part of the game from the Hollywood Hardrock where gold digger Anna Nicole Smith was found dead a few days later.

We flew back home from the Orlando International Airport on the same day astronut Lisa Nowak was arrested on charges of attempted kidnapping, battery, attempted vehicle burglary with battery, and destruction of evidence.

Hey, maybe she has PADs, too.