If at first you don’t succeed………try and try again? This is simply bad advice! The definition of madness is repeating the same actions and expecting a different result. So here are some alternate solutions when things aren’t working:
- Turn it off and turn it back on again.
- Turn it off, unplug it or remove the battery, leave it for a few minutes, and try turning it on again.
- Hit it with the flat of your hand.
- Hit it with a hammer.
- Find out if the [*] is down: * = Network, Connection, Secure tunnel, Database, Bridge, Road, Electricity, Fuse etc.
- Check if you have power.
- If it needs fuel, does it have fuel?
- RTFM: Read The F*antastic Manual: * insert Anglo-Saxon adjective of choice.
- Ask an expert.
- Ask someone knowledgeable.
- Ask someone who did it before.
- Ask someone who is available.
- Try a lubricant. Check the oil, spray on WD40, smear on some grease, or Vaseline.
- Tighten everything up.
- Loosen everything a bit.
- Wiggle stuff.
- Scratch your head.
- Kick it.
- Go for a walk, or lunch, to clear your mind, and then start all over again.
- Buy a new one.
Lenore; by Edgar Allan Poe
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!
-An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem how be sung
By you- by yours, the evil eye,- by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?”
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong.
The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride.
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes.
“Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven!
Let no bell toll, then,- lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!
And I!- to-night my heart is light!- no dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!”