Screwdriving

When I think of the word "screwdriver", I think of a cocktail of vodka and orange juice. I don't know if this makes me an alcoholic or simply inept with tools of any kind. Maybe a bit of both.

Last night, I sat on the floor in front of my entertainment center and hooked up my new DVD player (the old one stopped working correctly...it would refuse to open, holding my DVDs hostage for long periods of time, and wouldn't load the DVD it was holding hostage, just out of spite), which is lovely and silver and very friendly-looking. This should have been a relatively easy process, and was, up until I went to put in the first disc of Alias' first season (which, if you recall, was my present from Scott), and realized that my disc was missing. "It's probably in the old DVD player", you're thinking. That would have been my immediate thought if I had not already wrestled with the open/close mechanism on my old DVD player to get it to open its mouth, and ascertained that there was no disc in there. So I called Scott, thinking he accidentally took it back along with his discs of "The Wire" (an excellent show, by the way), and he said that my disc should have been in the old DVD player, because that's where we had left it Saturday night. So I wrestled with my old DVD player again, and got it to open its mouth, and then I tipped it upside down, and I heard a faint, but eerie, metallic whooshing sound. My disc was stuck behind the open/close mechanism, and would whoosh back and forth when I would tip the player!

You already know what comes next. Fortunately for me, I was already going to throw the sucker out, so I didn't have to have any mercy on the old DVD player. But I went and got a screwdriver of the non-cocktail variety out of my drawer, and proceeded to take apart my DVD player (at which point, I discovered that my screwdriver is also magnetic, so when you unscrew a screw, it sticks to the tip of the screwdriver until you take it off...this entertained me for a way longer than it should have). When I got the face off, I discovered that DVD players are singularly unimpressive, a couple of mother board thingys, and the disc drive. And there, hiding at an awkward angle under the top of the disc drive, was the Kool-Aid red hair of Sydney Bristow. After gently maneuvering the disc through the obstacle course of the disc drive, I saved Sydney Bristow. I feel that there should be some sort of reward for saving a secret agent with only a screwdriver. I feel like MacGyver.

I think I'll find some orange juice and vodka and toast my new tool prowess! Sydney Bristow, you've got nothin' on me. I'm a screwdriving fool.