Good Riddance, I Say

It's still 2012 and we're all still alive.  There was no apocalypse and my crew somehow managed to survive.  It wasn't easy.

I have been struggling with a way to describe this past year.  The title of this post will serve for now.  We have been struggling in general.  This has not been a happy holiday season.

It would seem that there are but a few groups who aren't struggling now.  One of them is Congress; currently busy not struggling with a way to save us money and benefit its constituents.  Instead, the traitorous bastards struggle with ways to get us to pay for their misdeeds and usurp the Bill of Rights.

Another group not struggling is rental car centers, or at very least, the one near us.  We're on week two of our rental, with nary a word on the body work of our car after the deer committed suicide with it.

Deer are another topic entirely.  My friend, the deer hunter, told me he had a clear shot at a deer a few weeks back.  He shifted, the deer heard it and ran.  If their hearing is that good, how does a deer miss a loud 35mph Hyundai at night with lights?  I suspect it was suicidal after all.

Some tell me this is deer season and they're about.  They sure are - they're decorating hoods all over the place.  And trust me, you don't want that kind of hood ornament.  Last weekend we were near the scene of our accident and came upon someone else's fresh accident.

Do we need to aerially spray the neighborhood with Prozac for the deer?  Are they that depressed?  Others speculate that they're just horny.  I'm just horny too but I don't go leaping in front of moving vehicles (unless that vehicle is Eva Longoria).  Some organization or other is talking about deer contraceptives, which brings me to my next point... what in the world is the pope going to say about deer condoms?  He sure as hell doesn't like them for humans.  My only thought here is that since the pope doesn't believe animals have souls, perhaps it's all equal in the end.  Perhaps if we tell the pro-lifers that we're giving abortions to the deer, they'd guard the roadways.  This way we won't actually have to touch the deer and the deer won't be able to get to the roads to leap in front of random cars.  Everybody wins (if we assume the deer aren't depressed in the first place).

HOLIDAYS

Holiday time is supposed to be a happy time.  Supposed to.
It seems that happiness took a few days off during my recent break from work.  It had gotten so bad that I cancelled xmas entirely (for myself).  As for everybody else, depression crashed into bipolar disorder, which sideswiped dream therapy, causing horrible nightmares for children.  Neuroses played table tennis with grief.  Not to be outdone, multiplicity sulked behind the scenes and refused to effectively communicate.

That aside, everything else was fine.


SOMEONE ELSE'S MIRACLE

Bro and Sis-in-law's mom had to go to the hospital for tests.  She walked in, had tests and became half paralyzed.  Brain cancer.  Then full paralysis (I strongly suspect the hospital, not cancer).  Days later, with many diagnoses, she was alert, awake, and oriented.  A transfer to hospice that was a death sentence got commuted to extended care.  My wife (the nurse) proved to a doctor that he had no idea what he was talking about.

So my relatives are celebrating and my wife scored some dignity for a dying woman.


THE WIFE'S MIRACLE

I hate health insurance companies.  This is kind of like saying that we hate Hitler.
My wife has been on the same medication for chronic pain for three years.  Because the insurance company is invested in finding new and better ways not to pay for things, they introduced the review/precertification process.  Once a year, the prescribing physician has to jump through hoops to get the medicine recertified so the insurance will pay for it.  The last time was June.

So what happened when my wife went to pick up her December pain meds?  The insurer decided that one year between reviews was no good and decided on six months instead.  Yes, these thieving bastards required another review so my wife could receive the pain meds she's been on for three years. This was made all the more amusing by the fact that her doctor was on vacation for two weeks with no way to reach him and a full answering machine.

The pharmacist, bless him, sat on the phone for twenty minutes with the insurer and got an override for four days worth of medicine (with the full copay, of course).  We had the option of paying cash for the meds, at ten dollars per pill, which we could not do.

For anyone still following, the insurer decided it was perfectly ok to completely stop a patient's prescribed pain meds due to a precert that could not be reasonably performed in one day.  This would cause not only horrible pain, it would cause the patient to go into detox.  But it's ok - this is how the insurance lobbies got Congress to write insurance law.

My wife put on her asshole hat and called the insurance company.  They were quite sympathetic to her plight but checked all the way up the chain and couldn't do a thing for her.  Her only option was to pay cash for the meds, which they would reimburse after the fact, then tackle the doc when he returns and force him to make the paperwork right.

So we're out about two hundred for meds now.  Combined with weeks of car rental, our mortgage company hopefully has a forgiveness program.

Another slew of imaginary points to the wife for keeping herself out of detox.   Notice that I am not sending kudos for bettering herself - just for scraping to get the bare minimum.   Life should not be about scraping for bare minimum.


MY MIRACLE

A few days ago I ventured across the building in search of Coca Cola.  There, in the machine, shining out like brown gold, was an actual row of Coke.  In the Coke machine, which is usually filled with Pepsi.  An xmas miracle!

But luck refused to abandon me this week.  The next day, there were two rows of Coke in the Coke machine.  And as if that weren't enough, there was silverware in the silverware drawer.  I was on a roll.  If I played numbers, this was the week to play them.

Finding soda made me feel almost invincible.


AND IN THE END

The kids were upset.  The pets were clingy.  Gifts sat unopened.  No one was happy.

We decided to hold our own xmas, the night after the other one, perhaps sending out our own metaphorical finger to the universe.

The kids got excited.  The pets got in the way.  The Hess chopper was the star of the evening.
I participated, in spite of cancelling xmas, by giving.

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We wish you a very Happy Whatever, dear reader(s).  Strength to those who need it.  Good health for all.  Keep the deer away from us.  Have a safe and happy new year and may 2013 be much less apocalyptic and much more enriching.

Pre-Hollerday Updates and Automatic Weapons

My car, as you might remember, was used by a female deer to commit suicide.  We just found out that the repair bill will be close to four thousand dollars and the insurance will cover it.  So we're just out for the car rental.

Lacking foreknowledge that people and animals would be throwing themselves at my car, I did not get rental insurance.  My wife added it today.  She called me to let me know that I saved us one dollar per month by not having rental.  Don't I feel the fool?

When we get it back, the car will be rebuilt better and stronger.  It will be the Bionic Car.  I have to locate a bumper sticker that says THIS CAR KILLED BAMBI.  And one of those small white deer stickers for the rear window with an X through it.

Merry F-ing Xmas.

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Last night I went shopping for work's Secret Santa Project.  I have known my target for a long time so the only choice was Spencer's Gifts at the mall.  It was brought to my attention that this wasn't exactly the best time in the world to go shopping but I didn't exactly have a lot of choice.  Hey, I just realized that xmas is Tuesday.

The first thing I noticed, besides not being able to find a parking space, is that Spencer's must have a rule that every fifteen to seventeen year-old child in the township must be inside the store, standing about and not moving.  And not moving loudly.  Speaking of loudly, we also need to discuss the decibel level of the (alleged) music, blasting down upon the teens from the specially-enhanced ceiling speakers.

Now before we call me Old Man and have me start yelling "Get off my lawn", I am a musician who plays loud rock and roll through large tube amplifiers.  I love music and I make it loudly.  The music raining down upon us was semi-agreeable but so loud that it prevented things like talking, concentrating and thinking.  Between impaired mental function and wading through Dawn of the Dead, shopping was extremely difficult.  

Oh yeah, I almost forgot the dings.  I guess it was the store's notification or alarm system that kept going DING, DING, DING every five seconds.  This addition to the general din was not a pleasant one.  As I suspected the workers no longer heard the DINGs, as if they were living next to an airport and didn't hear the planes anymore.  I politely offered to kill the DINGer and was encouraged by one of the fellows behind the counter, who was busy trying to launch his printer over the railing, down a few floors of the mall.

Since Spencer's seems to have co-opted several adult novelty stores, there was no shortage of interesting items to purchase.  But since Secret Santa takes place at work, I had to keep it semi-clean.  I found a penis mug and a Fifty Shades blindfold.  Yes, that's semi-clean where I work.

The wife decided to go into Hot Torrent.  This place was playing Rush (no, really) at the threshold of pain.  How one is supposed to discuss how cool their piercings look over that din is unfathomable.  My wife shouted to an employee about changing rooms.  She shouted something back but I couldn't make it out.  Wife tried on some really hot jeans but wasn't comfortable with them only coming up to her nether regions.  We must be old.

Topping off the evening, we ate at Chick Filet, where we established that none of the meat comes from gay chickens.

We Strove for a Stove

I'm almost uncomfortable, now that I think about it, having to admit that I've had a broken oven for the greater part of two years.  We do have a toaster oven and a microwave, not to mention the stove works, so we were generally ok.  I terribly missed my wife's Xmas Cookies of Death but we must do what we must do.  Anyone can make or buy chocolate chip cookies but my wife makes them something special. I make a point of not having nuts in cookies but I don't mind when my wife does it.  They're even better than my mom's cookies, which is saying a lot.

Out of the blue, a stove/oven dropped on us.  Not in the same way the deer dropped on my car; more of a surprise exchange.  Since we knew it was coming, we were able to make plans to get it in the house, make room and see about installation.  Since installation was two hundred and fifty dollars, we opted for the Dad Fix (Dad would come over and do it).

Making room looked to be the most difficult part of the program.  You'd think it would be a matter of removing the old stove and moving in the new one, but we don't do anything normally.  Suffice it to say that clear floor space is at a premium (which is a nice way of saying that we're just a few square feet of space away from an episode of Hoarders).  Days of cleaning and moving stuff ensued, spearheaded by my ever-moving wife.  Since the kitchen is at the back of the house, we decided the oven would exit and enter by the back door (with the dog and cat).

The fateful day arrived and I took off work.  Dad arrived and took the wife to Lowes, where my wife likes to spend money.  When they returned, we unhooked the old stove and took it out.  And when I say took it out, I mean it wouldn't go through the back door, so we had to put it on a cart, wheel it through the house, out the front door, and around the back of the house because we can't leave it out front.  We have to call the township to remove it.

After much cursing, we got the old unit out then brought the new unit all the way around, up the front steps and through the house to the kitchen.  More cursing.   Then Dad discovered he had purchased the wrong size plumbing: the house had 3/4" gas lines because it was put together by drunken monkeys, piece by piece, over years.  More cursing and another Lowes trip later, we had all we needed.

I learned all about taping threads, shutting off the gas to the house, screwing things on and the liquid that looks for leaks (LLL).  I also learned not to shut off that other valve because that's not gas.  Fortunately I did not learn like I normally do - the hard way.

We turned the gas back on, tested the burners, pushed back the stove and we were off!  For some strange reason everything worked.  Since it was the beginning of winter, we were in a bit of a hurry to restart the water and house heaters.  Water came right back up but the house heater, which is at least as old as me, took longer.  If called upon, I could absolutely not remember how to start either of them.

My dad mused that this one hour job took four, which is about right.  The wife was thrilled that we had a working stove.  It even had a digital display and timer.  It was white, which will no doubt change quickly.  My back was saying nasty things to me in a rather threatening tone, so we all went out for lunch (at 4 o'clock).

An oven is nice but it's an awful shame about the plumbing.

The plumbing?

Yes, the plumbing.  My wife informed me that there was rather a lot of water in the basement sink.  It was going nowhere and apparently was backing up, due to the internal kids flushing paper towels.  No amount of plumber's helpering would clear the mess.  She got out chemicals, which usually work but also failed.

The wife consulted my dad, my brother and the Home Depot Handbook.  We borrowed a snake, which also failed.  Finally she flushed some RidX down the toilet and within hours, we had no water in the sink.

Let's face it - I'm a knowledge worker.  I wasn't built to move boxes or do plumbing.

CAR UPDATE

We took the car to the insurance-approved collision center.  They immediately got upset and said it shouldn't be driven.  We should hear back today on the status.

Venison: it's what's for dinner.

This is Why I Can't Have Nice Things

For my entire life, I have driven very old, very used land yachts.  With many additional exterior modifications and features (by which I mean wrinkles, crinkles and dents).  One day a coworker made a comment about my car being an external mess and it bothered me for the first time.

Keeping a pair of land yachts was becoming very expensive, especially after one quit completely.  We decided it would be cheaper to pay for a new(er) car.  I thought it was the best decision and long overdue.   The Hyundai was new to me, but low mileage.  And it had no external modifications and features.  No longer would my coworkers make fun of my car... it was a great new feeling (in spite of five $200 tires).

I felt like the king of the world.  For at least a few months, until some uninsured piece of Philly dung rammed into it while making an illegal U-turn.  BAM - a door that wouldn't open, complete with external modifications and features.  Then a pair of rear-enders, for good measure.  Note that none of this had anything to do with the drivers of our car.

Tonight was the coup de grace.  A deer committed suicide-by-car, using our car.  It was in a High-Deer Area that we drive through now and then.  I thought I saw movement in the distance, which I apparently did.  All of the sudden there is a deer ten feet in front of the car.  Have you ever had a very large animal appear right in front of your car, as if by magic?  If we had the time, it would have been most disconcerting.  At about thirty-five miles per hour, we didn't have the time.  We hit it and physics took over from there.   I felt sorry for the deer.

When we made it to our destination, we looked at the car.  We had no idea there was so much damage... we couldn't see it from inside.  I immediately stopped feeling sorry for the deer.  A friend who works for an insurance company told us he's working overtime due to [wait for it.......] an incredible number of deer-related claims.

They really are after us.

Our insurer was a pleasure to work with when the uninsured idiot hit us.  I expect the same level of service this time.  Can't remember whether I have rental coverage but it's academic at this point.

THE LARGER PICTURE

I have to keep reminding myself that Life Is Not Fair.  We'd probably all be better off if we remembered this.  But I can't help noticing that we get more than our share of Life's Little Mishaps.  Four accidents in  two years, two of which caused significant damage.  I'm kinda tired of being an asshole magnet.  I even did a little research among friends and relatives; they agree that we get more than most.

Saying that I'm not exactly an optimist is like saying Hitler wasn't exactly fond of minorities.  Yet I've had to console myself with faux-optimistic nonsense lately because that's all there is.

A deer took out the front of my car tonight.
Well, you're lucky it didn't come through the window and kill you.

I just got paid for playing an xmas gig with the band and all of it went to pay for a new tire.
Hey, at least it was only one tire.

My band played last night and stunk up the place.
But the audience applauded.

Do you see where I'm going here?  I'm tired of having to play an optimist on tv just to get by.  When my wife complains that her fibromyalgia pain is through the roof after the accident, am I supposed to tell her that at least we got home?  Is that the highest level of comfort I can provide?

There really should be something better than this.

A Quick Note on Xubuntu 12.10

I upgraded a number of my Xubuntu 12.04 boxes to 12.10 over the last few weeks.  This was a seamless transition.

I am very happy to say that there are no glitches.  So far, I have discovered a new Settings Manager, complete with all the things that should actually be in there in the first place.  This is a welcome addition.

Since I use Xubuntu, I am not subject to Gnome, KDE or the hideous Unity interface.  Thusly, the changes I experience are few and generally for the better.  No spyware (still), no bloat.

I experienced difficulty with one machine but troubleshooting led me to discover that the install routine found an old install, which caused grief on upgrade.

Thumbs up!   Thanks to the tireless folks at Xubuntu/XFCE/Ubuntu/Canonical.

Hey Hey They're the Monkees

A coworker, who is a rabid Monkees fan, came up with an extra pair of tickets for last week's Monkees concert.  Yes, the Monkees.  It was a time warp for me.  I remember watching the Monkees when I was little and there I was, watching (most of) them onstage.

As you remember, Davey Jones passed away this year.  The band toured without Mike Nesmith, who decided to tour after Davey left us.  Mike hasn't toured with the Monkees in many many years, so this was a real surprise.

The Keswick Theater is a great place to catch anyone.  It's small and intimate and there are no bad seats.  We sat halfway back on the right.  A huge video screen played ancient video clips, including the commercials the boys did for cereal and cologne.

The crowd was an interesting mix, between about 15 and 65.  Of course whenever you're at a concert, there are the requisite Concert Weirdos and of course, one of them was sitting next to my wife.  It's really off-putting, watching a sixty year old woman playing air drums and conducting the music, all the time reaching into the chairs around her and generally disturbing the peace.  As a result, my wife was half in my chair (and grumbling).  That lady had no idea how close she came to ceasing to be.

You could not get close to the merchandise on the way in - it was mad.  I wanted a program, at very least.  Unfortunately it was worse on the way out, to the point of fire hazard.

The boys hit the stage to major fanfare.  The backup band was fantastic.  I have seen a bit of Monkees video and the shows are always first rate.  This was my first live experience and I was not disappointed.  Everything was tight, the sound was phenominal and the video was an added treat: it ran constantly during the set, playing the videos from the songs the boys were doing.

Mike was in fine form and played well with everybody.  He primarily used his Gretsch 12 string electric through a small Fender combo, probably a Deluxe Reverb.  Peter played his red Strat, a red five-string bass, banjo, and a Korg keyboard.  Mickey played a Taylor acoustic guitar, various percussion and a custom drum set, but primarily fronted the group.  The band also had Mickey's sister on vocals and Mike's son Christian on guitar and vocals.

They opened with Last Train to Clarksville and we were off to the races.  All periods were covered, including psychedelic.  Mikes tunes were front and center and everybody got a chance to sing lead.  Mickey has all the energy of Steven Tyler (and none of the scarves).  He hit all the notes, too.

Davey's absence did not go unnoticed.  Whenever Davey appeared on the screen, there was applause.  Finally it came time for Daydream Believer.  They mentioned that they had all sung it before but it just wasn't right, so they asked the audience to sing it.  They pulled some guy onstage, who got to stand next to Mickey and sing the whole song.  The guy did well and was out of his mind, meeting the band. It was a really nice tribute.

My coworker, as I mentioned, is a Monkees maniac.  He probably knows more trivia than the band itself.  He can tell me the names of the episodes I describe.  He knows the character actors who played bit parts.  He knows what was recorded and where they were at any time.  You know how there's one yahoo at every concert?  The guy screaming things out?  This was my buddy.  Everyone was pretty quiet between songs.  This was right up until he started yelling things like "I love you, Mickey" and "NESmith!"  After that, it was bedlam.  He almost singlehandedly whipped the crowd into a frenzy.

The tour is finished.  It's too early to say but my bet is that the band is finished (at least as we know it).  I was really happy that I finally got to see my tv friends at least once.  My wife, already a fan, enjoyed the hell out of the evening.  Strangely enough, all of my musical friends said they would have gone, if they had known.

Hats off, guys.  Thanks from a fan or two.

Controlled Losing

There's something ugly in the air.  Let's start with the weather: it sucks.  We're deep into fall/winter (fall actually having been outlawed by the state of PA), which means it's cloudy and cold.  In the summer, it's cloudy and hot.  It's always humid, but I digress (usually).

Today I'd like to talk about boundaries, consequences and mental health.

Whenever you are in any relationship, including friends, you need boundaries.  One puts up boundaries so as not to get walked upon.  It's not always easy or intuitive; sometimes you need to learn the hard way.  In my family, we practically insist upon learning the hard way.  Again and again.

Consider a boundary like a see-through wall, which you erect to keep yourself safe.  One example would be telling your drug-addicted cousin that he can come over, but not do drugs in your home.  You can't control the drug use but you can control who you let in your house and what goes on inside.  After you put up the boundaries, you may be called upon to defend them.

This is actually a very basic, accepted principle of psychology, which I insisted upon learning the hard way when I met my wife.  Being the observant type, I noticed that boundaries, although healthy, come with their own downside.  I refer to this as Controlled Losing.  This is where our actual tale begins (continues?).

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My parents move a lot.  Some older folks take up hobbies like knitting, stamp collecting or doting over their grandkids (or grandpets); my parents move.  We don't have the time or willingness to diagnose this, although we certainly have our suspicions.

At first it was enough to lift an eyebrow.  Then we started noticing patterns.  Now we watch in horror, as they seem to fall into semi-yearly cycles.  I jokingly suggested they affix wheels to all of their furniture and invest in their own warehouse full of boxes and packing material to save costs.  Ok, half jokingly.

Here's where the boundaries thing kicks in....  

I'm a middle-aged guy with a back that gives me grief.  One brother lives on the other side of the country and another is local.  We don't have a lot of difference in age.  So this moving thing gets not only tiresome, it flipping hurts.  Every child helps their parents move, right?

Well, unless they get a moving company.  

We're not entirely sure why they don't get a moving company.  We're only talking small apartment here.  I suspect Mom thinks Dad is a moving department.  Judging by his newly-acquired limp (from bad knees), Dad is no longer the moving department Mom thinks he is.

So the last time we helped them move, as I was walking out the door, I set a boundary.

Mom, I hope you like this place, because it will be the last one.  I can't do this anymore.

My wife backed me one-hundred percent.

Fast forward a year or two, when the wife walks in with that look.  Guess what your parents are doing.....

Then, I enforced my boundary.

No.  I am not doing it.

Doctors, therapists and fellow inmates assure me this is a very healthy move on my part.

As if on cue, the wife says she has to help them.

I tried the Boundary Talk with her.

We already told them NO.  We have to enforce that.

If you're married, you will understand that I was overruled.
But I then had to defend my boundaries with the wife and the parents.

Fine but I'm still not doing it.  And you're going to hurt yourself trying. 

Now here we are at Moving Week.  My boundaries are holding strong.  I'm doing the right thing.
The only problem is that the right thing is coming back to bite me in the nether regions.  Let's tally the score, shall we?

• I told my parents I would not help them move after the last time.  Now they're upset and they're not getting a lot of help, so it's slow going and physically painful.
• I told my wife to defend her boundaries.  She hasn't.  Now the lady who needs a cane sometimes is helping her in-laws move.  She is bent over in agony now.  She is also quite crabby as a result.

If I had not defended my boundaries, I would be bent over in agony.  Since I allegedly did the healthy thing, there are a bunch of crippled, angry people, slowly moving an apartment.  And I'm lucky to still be married.

This is why I call this exercise Controlled Losing.


P.S.  Happy birthday to our spiritual leader, Jimi Hendrix!

Philly Guitar Show

Last weekend I attended the winter version of the Philly Guitar Show, which was neither in the winter, nor in Philly.  Depending on who you asked, it was either at the Philly Expo Center in Oaks or the Oaks Expo Center (in Oaks).

That aside, it's always fun going to these shows.  I might have missed two in many years.  From a left-handed perspective the shows are frequently disappointing but this one was more of a winner.  I bring you pictoral evidence....

First up, I wandered into a 1964 lefty Strat.  I have never seen one, no less played one.  As one would expect, it had that mojo only available in a vintage guitar.  It was burst with a big old rosewood board for only $14k.  Just so we lefties don't feel discriminated against, another booth had a righty 1964 Strat for the same price.  Unfortunately I didn't get a picture of it, although it was the one I wanted most.

Next up was a local dealer with an amazing collection of Taylors.  At the end of the collection was the lefty collection.

Technically speaking, there are only three, which is because the guy went to set the fourth one up after I played it.  They all played like butter and I will eventually have a few of them.  Just not now.

Around the corner my senses started to tingle when I saw this:

I can spot a late 70's Strat from across the room.  It was a 77.  And when I got closer, I almost dropped my coffee.  I know some of us are inveterate tinkerers but this guy went a little too far.  He installed a humbucker in the rear, which I must admit to doing on one of mine but then he went and added a switch or five.  And not the small toggles, no sir.  He added flat-handle toggles, in odd places, at odd angles.  I picked it up (because I like pain) and it felt decent but quite used.  Could probably use a fret job.  At about $1400, I decided to leave it there.

Here is your basic black Les Paul Custom (I have the Ibanez lawsuit version of this).  It was in good shape and relatively reasonably priced.

Here's a wine red Les Paul Standard Plus top from 2008 for $2150.

I know these are available but have never seen one til now.  It's the newish Squier Classic Vintage Tele (Strat also available).  These are some great deals, with pine bodies and acceptable hardware/pickups, at  a bargain price.  This model inspired me to build my own pine Tele (and when I say build, I mean I have had all the parts for a year and am waiting for the Finishing Department to get in gear).  The only problem with this series is the problem I have with all recent Fenders - the dratted C-neck they use.  But try one - you might love it.

When was the last time you saw a lefty EB0 bass?  For me, the answer is never.  And from what I remember, it's no great loss.  But still a curiosity.

Speaking of lefty basses, you don't often see a bass both lefty and in blue.  They also had one in maple. I don't have a blue guitar yet so this made me tingle a bit but I'll need a guitar before a blue bass.

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While that's about it for lefties (I didn't bother with the cheapies I saw), here are some interesting pieces of the backwards (right-handed) variety.

These were my favorites in the whole show, for their sheer hideousness.

Here is a custom-made Alembic guitar for Richard Betts, aka Dickey Betts, late of the Allmans.  Came complete with a Vintage Guitar story on its creation.

This was a classic beauty - a 1954 Telecaster in pretty fine condition for only $25k.  Below it is a picture of the neck with its date.

Les Paul enthusiasts got to behold this 1955 goldtop.  It was not priced and if you have to ask.....

The shows are held twice a year, June/July and November.  Check B3 Guitars for the schedule - they may be coming to your town.

Get Out the Chicken Wire - it's Gig Time

My new band played Saturday night.  I have only been with these guys for a little while and have only played at some outdoor gigs thus far.  They told me the bar was a great place to play.  In fact, one of them described it as follows...

It's the kind of place where there's a fight in the parking lot and everybody walks by it like this happens every day.

I approached neutrally, figuring I'd let the place make its own impression on me.  I was not, however, prepared for the sign outside the bar:

As if this weren't enough, as I was taking the picture, a denizen walked by, looked quizzically, and started drunkenly spouting something about colors, the Eagles, several F-bombs and a smattering of N-words.  He was a very happy drunk and walked right inside.

Uh-oh.

The wife and I looked at each other with a smile.  We were home.  These were our people.  Well, not really.  But I've played in front of them frequently.

I hauled my gear in and waited for the rest of the band.  We were greeted by an impossibly perky waitress, who served us the best burgers we have eaten in a while.  This girl was all about service and we were suitably impressed.

Then we looked up to discover Mr. F-bomb actually worked at the bar.  Well, there's nothing like a happy racist.

Looking at the stage made me wonder where we were going to put the rest of the band; there are rather a lot of us and there wasn't a lot of stage.  After about an hour, someone managed to get the lights on, and when I say lights, I mean a pair of revolving red and blue lights.  I felt like the cops were after me all night.

In addition to the police lights they had black lights.  As a result, my shirt and shoelaces glowed white in the dark.  I must've looked like a dancing shirt from the front of the stage.

Most of the band noticed the waitress, who was everywhere at one time.  Most of the band made suitably rude comments about the attractive waitress.  And since most of the band wives were there, no one made any unsuitable propositions to the waitress (thankfully).

Much to my surprise, everything in my rig worked.  And all of the band's gear worked.  There was adequate power.  The p.a. was loud enough.  We had monitors.  Almost no one was sick.  It was like a scene out of a dream.  And there was no burden of being in-charge.

We played several long sets and the crowd was most appreciative.  At no point did we have to put up chicken wire (because no one threw anything).  I hear that management really likes us.  We old folks were pretty beat up at the end but it was a really great show.

I'm Having One of Those Days Again

Nothing serious, just work stuff around my unreasonable expectations.

What are unreasonable expectations?  I'll tell you, in the form of a story.

Since it was lunchtime, I went to the kitchen to wash my hands and heat up my food.  The sink had no soap.  Needing a fork, I went to the silverware drawer, only to discover there were no forks.  There were spoons - lots of spoons.  In fact both the spoon spot and the knife spot were full of spoons.  But no forks.

We have soda machines.  Yes, we do...  for an outrageous sum, you can purchase the high fructose corn syrup-infused beverage of your choice, provided said beverage isn't Coke.  Last week someone blew up a picture of a Coke bottle to twice its size and taped it to the soda machine, with the word `Please' written on it.

In the Old Days (which, in this case, means last year or so), one could make a request and see it fulfilled by the next day or so.  We were all excited because we were going to be able to purchase Coke.  Within a few days, Coke failed to appear.  In fact, Coke stubbornly refused to show up in that machine for weeks.

We're a big outfit and we have two kitchen areas.  Sometimes I head out to the other end of the building (county) to see what the other machine has in store for me.  It's also a great place to find silverware when there isn't any in the normal lunchroom.  Since this area is closer to the VIPs, it is always well-stocked.  Our lunchroom is the bastard red-headed stepchild of the company.

You could have knocked me over with a feather because, standing right there where the soda machines stand, was a brand spankin' new Coke machine!  I almost ran across the room, in slow motion, like lovers do across a field, to purchase my first actual Coke.

You know what's coming, right?

I found Coke!  Well, when I say Coke, I mean Cherry Coke; which was fine that particular day.  Had I desired Diet Coke, I could have found that in spades, as well as in the Pepsi machine in our lunchroom.  Since I prefer to choose my cancers carefully, I do not drink diet anything.

Hours later I had to hit the men's room.  Judging by the small pond on the floor, I might not have been the only one.  It's been sitting there for two days and doesn't have any (visible) life.  Doesn't look like good fishing anyway.  After I washed my hands, which not all coworkers do, I discovered the paper towel machine cracked open, with no paper towels in it.

Sigh.

I turned to the other paper towel machine, which was completely full of paper towels, but alas, also full of dead batteries, so it wouldn't dispense the much-needed towels.  No matter, my hands were almost dry by that point anyway.

Fast forward to this morning, in the men's room again.  Automated soap dispenser was out of soap.  But there were paper towels.

My company is full of germphobes and compulsive hand-washers.  Outside of every bathroom and every ten feet thereafter on the walls, are water-free hand cleaner dispensers.   As of last month, all the soap dispensers and paper towel dispensers were automatic so all you had to do was wave your hand beneath it.  This is especially amusing when it allots you three inches of paper towel with which to dry your hands.  This is not a money or resource-saving measure; it's just the batteries wearing down.

The only place where you can pour your own soap is the kitchen.  While there was a soap sighting today, the (manual) paper towel dispenser was empty.  But there were forks.  And still no knives.

As one would expect, there was nothing to drink in the Pepsi machine except Diet Coke and other non-palatable items.  Trudging over to the next county, I headed straight for the brand new Coke machine.

Wait for it!!

There was no Coke.

In the Coke machine.

The machine with huge the red and white illustration.  Of Coke.
The machine with the wondrous inner workings which whisk your beverage on its merry way to you with great flourish.


But at least there was Diet Pepsi.

Let's Vote! and other stuff...

Today we vote.  Or rather we should vote.

I have seen articles stating why your vote doesn't matter and theories about why it might.  I even wrote here, stating that we third party voters are pretty popular these days.  Most of the polls show the Evil Twins<tm> Romney and Obama neck and neck.  My boss, the portable democratic strategist, states that we are going to see a rerun of the 2000 elections, where it will be decided in the courts.

I am going to vote my conscience.  A vote for the lesser evil is a vote wasted.

Before you pull the lever or write in a name, I want you to ponder these events past:

• the Patriot Act
• the auto `bailout'
• the banker `bailout'
• the NDAA (your president can order you dead with no process)
• Free Speech Zones
• rapidly expanding government, in size and scope
• even more `spreading democracy' (our troops in foreign lands)

The Evil Twins are in close agreement on the above.   Where does this leave us?

Do what you must.

===========================

Now that the expected unpleasantness is through, I wanted to bring you the best of today's news.

Things are in bad shape in New Jersey and New York.  On Craigslist you can now find people trading gas for sex.  My Hotness Level would be through the roof if I had a few spare gallons.....

Staten Island wants to thank you for your generous donations of clothes.  In fact, they don't need more clothes; they need underwear.

A Des Moines, Iowa store has a message for the Secret Service.

An observable miracle in modern jurisprudence was observed recently in Cleveland.  A woman who drove on the sidewalk to get around a school bus must stand on the corner wearing a sign that says 

"Only an idiot drives on the sidewalk to avoid a school bus."

I suspect if more cases were decided this way, there would be more people with signs and less idiots behind the wheel.  In fact, this might actually eliminate traffic jams!


And lastly, Bill Clinton asks, "Who wants a president who will lie to you?"

Right on, Bill.  Presidents only lie when their lips are moving.

The Great Storm of 2012

I heard noise coming from down the street.  It wasn't enough to really disturb me but it was sufficient to probably piss off a neighbor or two.   My wife informed me that it was the new guy, redoing his entire house.  Of course, she's the expert.  I don't know exactly how she knows this stuff but she does.  It's almost like the Python sketch with the two old ladies who had the whole neighborhood under surveillance with videotape and multiple monitors.

Having been brought up to date on the Neighborhood Situation, I only hoped that the new guy would generate enough noise to sufficiently piss off the Louds.  I have written a few times about the Loud Family.  There are two very loud parents, five or seven loud children (each with their own loud cars), at least two loud pets and a loud house.  Furthermore there is a loud basketball court somewhere out of site, as well as twenty or thirty really loud friends.

The loud children lob F-bombs at their parents.  The loud cars are the 2000 reproductions of 1970's muscle cars so they're very loud.  They just got a loud lawn tractor, much to my dismay.

So I hoped the new guy could make enough noise to get on the nerves of the Louds.  But it was not to be.  Later the next day, the noise was getting so bad I had to consult my wife.  I said that the guy had a right to redo his house but this was getting out of hand - especially when it woke me up at nine in the morning.  Mrs lefty informed me that eight is ok to start in our little township.

I should have known, of course.  No normal human being can keep up that amount of noise for that protracted a period of time without physical or emotional harm.  It wasn't New Guy, it was the Louds.  They somehow managed to procure a smaller (but LOUDER) piece of yard equipment and were taking turns with it all weekend long.

We have only one working theory for the Louds: poor Mr. Loud is in such a horrible marriage that he would rather spend all of his time outside, working on the yard and house, than inside, with Mrs. Loud (whose other car is, in fact, a broom).

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Meanwhile, news of the impending storm raced through work Friday.  They were working themselves up into a pretty spectacular PANIC, which is par for the course.  Meetings were called, Continuity of Government operations were put into place, disaster recovery was brought up (and laughted at hysterically) and multi-unit conference calls were had by all necessary emergency personnel.

I had bacon pizza.  If you have never tried bacon pizza, I cannot recommend it strongly enough.  Even if it sounds a bit weird, give it a try; you'll thank me.  I brought a few slices home for the wife to try, setting them carefully on the table, out of the range of leaping cockers.

Since Saturday was supposed to be nice, we went out for a bit.  As one would expect, the weather was dreary and every major road was either closed for no particular reason or so jammed up, it took forever to get to your destination.  I maintain that the best thing that could happen to Philly is a fire.  They they could rebuild roads to a reasonable capacity for now and for the future.

When we returned, I went to heat up the bacon pizza for my wife.  No dice, lefty.

Why?  Because I found the pizza box on the floor, next to the table.  Need I mention that it was totally empty?  Occam's Razor (the easiest answer is usually the correct answer) dictated that the cat jumped up and sent the pizza box flying, at which point the dog probably ate it.  Or they ate it in tandem - they work well together when no one is looking.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Meanwhile, PANIC ensues.  Philadelphia announces it is closing Monday.  Public transportation is closing Sunday night.  My workplace, the Twilight Zone<tm>, is also closing.  This of course requires a twenty-person conference call.

We went to visit friends for dinner and stopped at the market for a pie.  The wife informed me that the place was a madhouse, with people whizzing all over the place, as if there was going to be no food for them to purchase.  Wawa was out of bread and milk also.

When we returned, we were treated to the sight of a huge stain on the carpet.  Somebody (smart money is on the dog) overturned a cardboard drink caddy with two or three half-finished cups of coffee in them.  We should invest in carpet cleaner stock.

What's even more frustrating is that we have no one to blame but ourselves.  And our smart ($*#ing pets.

Speaking of smart pets, the cat has been attached to me and licking my arm.  No one knows why.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

UPDATE: Hopefully final.

Philthydelphia and work shut down for a second day.  Then we lost power at home.  Totally.  But simply losing power was not sufficient for modern infrastructure, no sir.  My cell phone service went out too (thank you once again T-Mobile).  You have to admit that it was a stunning coincidence; the electricity and the cell phone service going out at once.

Fortunately our power got reconnected, only twenty five hours later.  We seem to live in something of a power black hole.  Last time was similar.  The block next door had power but we did not.  We have no idea why.  Apparently the entire block is looking into generators or somehow getting put onto a less black holey power feed.  Have I mentioned we have a guy who works for the local electric concern on the block?

Too add insult to injury, the Louds had procured a generator for just such emergencies.  Need I mention that it was a sufficiently loud generator?  It sounded like a truck idling outside my door for twenty five hours.  I am somewhat surprised that it didn't kill the entire neighborhood via carbon monoxide but I'll take my luck where I can get it.

Cell phone service is another matter entirely.  The only reason it reappeared is that I ran it through my wireless system.  Up for work Wednesday morning, I still had no signal.  In fact, I had no signal until I got to work, where it seemed to fluctuate wildly.   Even when I went wireless, it still failed.  Having trouble texting, which is the easiest thing to get through.  Sigh.... maybe one day I'll take the test to become a radio amateur; at least that never goes down.

According to the largely useless FCC, approximately twenty-five percent of cell towers were damaged by the storm.  I suspect it to be only the T-Mobile towers (both of them) but time will tell. 

The ride into work took twice as long as normal, largely due to trees that steadfastly refused to stay planted (and city workers that weren't working).  New slogan: Welcome to Philly- You can't get there from here!

Lessons learned: buy a super UPS for the computer, possibly a generator for the house.  Get real cell phone service.

RE-UPDATE:

Cell service is crappy all over.  Really crappy.  T-Mobile rep has been sending me updates, indicating they're making real progress.  None that I can actually see (work+home) but she's pretty honest.

NJ is a mess.  Moreso.  A good fried of the blog lives in that godforsaken mess and said it is not pretty. No electricity, almost no cell service, no internet, and a three hour line for gas.  Curfew and necessary traffic only.  We may have to dispatch the Libertarian Guard to rescue them.  We will look most resplendent in our official Hyundai.

At least we have our health?

Tech Support - WHAT Tech Support?

Whenever I call or email tech support, I'm really nice.  It's because I know they have a terrible job and I've been there myself.  Although I no longer do helpdesk work, I do work closely with them during my hours of toiling.

In the past two weeks, I have had two horrible experiences with tech support.  At this point one issue has been resolved and I have only recently stopped scraping pieces of my cranium off the ceiling long enough to type this out for my friends in hilarity..... Suffice it to say, if my department at work performed this way, we'd all be out looking for jobs.

Apparently this is not the case everywhere.

The Case of the Bad Display

I recently got an HP Elitebook laptop at work.  It is roughly the weight of a medium size car and has a seventeen inch display.  It is manly and magnificent.  We have purchased rather a lot of HP laptops and desktops at work as a result of transitioning from Dell Hell.  Sadly, one day I turned the laptop on and got only a gray display.

HP phone support was very helpful.  We diagnosed a bad display and they said a tech would be in touch to schedule a time to come out and fix it.

A week later, I called HP, wondering where my personal tech was.   They told me there was an issue with getting the parts and he would be calling tomorrow.

Another few days later, I called HP again.  The rep read the log and asked me what he could help me with.  Well, if he read the log, he'd realize no one had called or come out to fix my laptop's errant display.  I politely let him know there was no movement from last time.  He said to excuse him for a moment.

Did you ever wonder where tech support goes when they ask you to hold on?  Do they switch displays and continue watching whatever kind of porn tech support enjoys?  Are they writing a few additional chapters of their autobiography?  Pee-pee break?  I sure as hell don't know.

Tech Support Guy comes back and informs me that Repair Guy called last Friday.

No he didn't.  The phone didn't ring all day Friday and no one left me voicemail.

In any case, Tech Support Guy was going to phone Repair Guy personally and have him get back to me within thirty minutes.  That was kinda nice, actually.

Shortly thereafter, Repair Guy calls and says he's an hour out and would be happy to drop by to fix the problem.

More surprisingly, Repair Guy made it within the alloted time and found the building.  I work in the Twilight Zone, which is supposed to appear on Google Maps but doesn't really.  To find our building, you have to possess at least a few working brain cells, which rules out most of the people who try.

Repair Guy was very competent, personal and professional.   I have to admit that I hate working on laptops.. too many tiny parts that tend to become airborne and land in the carpet, where they rest in peace forever.  This guy tore the entire laptop down in no time, screwed in the new display and powered up the laptop.

Have you ever seen a broken laptop display?  It looks a little like fractals on acid.  I hesitated to point this out because we were apparently looking at a display that was broken right out of the box.  As it turned out, I didn't have to say anything because Repair Guy said it for me.

My company purchases a warranty for next day service because we can't have machines down.  Here we are, a week and a half out, and I still don't have a functional laptop display.  I hate to say this but we didn't have this problem with Dell (we had lots of other problems).

Repair Guy apologizes profusely and says he'll get another display overnighted.  Of course, overnighted refers only to shipping, not whether the warehouse has the part in stock.  So he might be back the following day and he might not.

Two days later, Repair Guy returns, pops in the new display and all is well in the world.  Total time: two weeks.

I'm loving the service, HP.
My coworkers inform me that you have honored your promises on every other repair.  Although I'm not surprised the glitch affects only my computer, I'm still saddened by it.




The Case of the Errant Security Cameras

Work purchased an eight channel security camera system with DVR to keep watch over the place.  The reviews on Amazon were very favorable and I felt comfortable going forth.

In spite of not knowing a thing about security cameras or DVRs, the system went up without a hitch.  And when I say without a hitch, I mean eight hours of hurling wires above a drop ceiling and falling off ladders.

Once everything got plugged in, it worked perfectly.
And when I say perfectly, I mean that all eight cameras worked and I got the whole thing configured, mostly without consulting the manual.  It was a minor shock to all present.

One of the neatest features of the system is that you can plug it into your network and monitor the cameras remotely, like on your phone.  Everyone was excited.

And when I say everyone was excited, I mean right up until I tried plugging the thing into the network. I gave it an IP address (like a house address for the network) and it completely failed to show up on the network.  I gave it a different IP address, which also failed to show up on the network.   I even tried giving it a third IP address and screaming, all for naught.  It's funny - screaming is a necessary technique employed by anyone who has ever worked on computers (or possibly cars).

After mucking about with this device way too long, I decided to email tech support.  I received an email response in record time, uplifting my spirits.  When I say my spirits were uplifted, I mean right up until reading the email, which was the equivalent of a long wait on the phone: "We're sorry but we're really busy.  Your email is very important to us.  Because of higher than normal email volumes, we will answer this email within one to five days.  You are cordially invited to hold your breath until then.  Remember, your email is very important to us."

One solid week later without a response to my very important email made me weary, in a very large and existential way.

Things were getting grim so I had to bite the bullet and get on Support Chat with them.  The cute little box informed me that I would have to wait up to three minutes.  Two minutes.  Then one minute or less.  Funny how time flies when you're waiting for someone to answer.  It was like watching a Microsoft Copy Dialog Box, which tells you that you have four seconds to go but it really means forty minutes.

Eight minutes later, Support Chat Guy hops on chat.  I explain the issue to him.  He tells me I need to plug the device into a router.  I am working on a huge business network with hundreds of computers and he wants me to plug the DVR into the business router, as if I were a home user.

I shook my head and explained to Support Chat Guy that this was a business and there was no way to plug the DVR into the router.  He said we might not be able to get the unit working then.

Sigh.

I told the fellow that I gave the box an IP address and it's not coming up on the network.  He spends thirty chat minutes (175 minutes in dog chat) trying to get me to plug the DVR into the router.  I keep telling him the router is not a concern if the device isn't showing up.

Sigh.

As I mentioned, I don't want to be rude but I do want my problem solved expeditiously, which isn't going to happen if this guy can't think outside of the box of Home User.  It is apparent that he does not understand networking and I don't wish to spend the time to school him.  I suggest the next level of support and he suggests I call on the phone.

Done.

So I call on the phone.  The noise in the background sounds worse than the noise in the background of my workplace, which has been described as `slightly louder than a soccer riot'.  Phone Support Guy reads over my case and immediately asks me to plug the DVR into my router.

This is like deja vu all over again.

I try explaining networking to this nice person, who apparently realizes that he is over his head much faster than his colleague.  He suggests having a higher level support tech call me back.  Unfortunately due to the time difference (I didn't ask but I'm guessing Estonia, Moldavia, or Eastern Bumfuct - the English side) they can only reach me between three and four o'clock so it might not be today.

Two days later there is a voicemail from the camera company, stating that he has tried to reach me two times.

Really?


WHY IS THIS SO INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT?

Puppies, Pussy Riot and Propaganda

The internet is full of shit.  Politicians are full of shit.  Most of us are full of shit.  To counteract all of the shit, I will occasionally post something slightly uplifting.


I see your presidential election and raise you a ten year old boy with Down Syndrome lost in the woods overnight, kept warm by puppies.  You will not beat that headline.  Ever.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Moving on from the adorable to the blasphemously adorable, it would seem that the pope is not a fan of Russia's Pussy Riot.  You know those religious icons - they all cover for their own.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

And lastly, speaking of elections, here's some libertarian propaganda:

NOW We're Important

It's tough being libertarian.  Most people look at me like I have three heads (although I suspect they'd look at me that way regardless of political orientation).

It's particularly tough at work, where the Democratic National Committee meets.  Ok, it's not officially the DNC but two people who worked for Obama congregate with all their amateur strategists and plan for the election.  It's upsetting.  I have a little sign that says OBAMA/BIDEN 2012 - because you didn't learn the first time.  It points in that direction.

I've been paying attention to the polls, which I don't generally do.  By all accounts, this race is close.  In fact, the race is so close that libertarians are starting to matter.   And how, you ask, do I know libertarians matter?  Because we're being bashed openly in the press.  Normally we're ignored; now we're being ridiculed.

When libertarians come up, the parties of Greed argue back and forth about who gets stolen from by libertarian votes.

In my state (Pennsylvania), the republican party is very busy with dirty tricks, trying to keep Gary Johnson off the ballot.  They hired private investigators and misrepresented themselves.  Fortunately liberty prevailed and Mr. Johnson is on the ballot.  We can also write-in Ron Paul.

If we don't matter, why are the republicans trying so desperately to remove our candidate?  Oddly enough, the democrats either haven't done anything or haven't been caught yet.

It sure is nice to matter, for once.

In fact, we libertarians should be actively courted.  [evil laughter]


Don't vote for the lesser of two evils.  Vote for someone who represents your ideals.  A vote for the lesser of two evils is a vote wasted.

The Day in Funny

HOW TO MAKE A WOMAN HAPPY

*It's not difficult to make a woman happy.*
         *A man only needs to be:

         1. a friend
         2. a companion
         3. a lover
         4. a brother
         5. a father
         6. a master
         7. a chef
         8. an electrician
         9. a carpenter
         10. a plumber
         11. a mechanic
         12. a decorator
         13. a stylist
         14. a sexologist
         15. a gynecologist
         16. a psychologist
         17. a pest exterminator
         18. a psychiatrist
         19. a healer
         20. a good listener
         21. an organizer
         22. a good father
         23. very clean
         24. sympathetic
         25. athletic
         26. warm
         27. attentive
         28. gallant
         29. intelligent
         30. funny
         31. creative
         32. tender
         33. strong
         34. understanding
         35. tolerant
         36. prudent
         37. ambitious
         38. capable
         39. courageous
         40. determined
         41. true
         42. dependable
         43. passionate
         44. compassionate

         WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:

         45. give her compliments regularly
         46. love shopping
         47. be honest
         48. be very rich
         49. not stress her out
         50. not look at other girls

         AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:

         51. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
         52. give her lots of time, especially time for herself
         53. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

         IT IS VERY IMPORTANT:

         54. Never to forget:
         * birthdays
         * anniversaries
         * arrangements she makes*


         *
         HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY
         *
         *1. Show up naked

                 2. Bring alcohol*



NOTE:  alcohol optional

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Absolutely the best doody humor I have ever read.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Any time your day is moving slowly or getting depressing, this will always be here for you.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

And now, in the attempt to offend absolutely everyone equally, read this.

Android Apps I'd Like to See

I still love my Android devices.  The phone gets daily use and the tablet every few days.  There are just a few more apps I wish someone would come up with:

1. non-root firewall: would stop all the crapware (and operating system) from phoning home
2. Ccleaner: Crap Cleaner is one of my favorite Windows apps.  It literally cleans the crap from the system.  Android Assistant has some cleaners but I want more and better.
3. app firewall: something to stop the stupid apps from popping up by themselves.  I can't see any reason why any programs need to start themselves unexpectedly.  If I have email set to manual, there's no reason for email programs to come up.
4. non-root hosts file/ad-blocker: in Windows and linux, one can use a hosts file to block crapware/adware/viruses.  This would be great for android.
5. a keyboard that doesn't suck: vertical or horizontal, I just can't type on them.

I'd also like web browsing to be less painful but this is probably less an android issue than a size issue.

What would you like to see?

A Note from Sofia Vergara

I wish.

Concert Sticker Shock

Like most of us, I grew up going to concerts.  I started on my thirteenth birthday and spent like mad to see all of my favorites.  I even pretended to be older so I could see bands in bars before I was twenty one.  I have seen just about every one of my favorites: Jeff Beck, Frank Zappa, Danny Gatton, ZZ Top,  Peter Frampton, the Allmans, Dickie Betts, Eric Johnson, Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Larry Carlton, Frank Marino, Aerosmith, Al DiMeola, Jan Hammer, Allan Holdsworth, Dr John, Little Feat, Joe Satriani, Jimmy Bruno, Joe Cocker, Journey, Queen, Randy Hansen, Robin Trower, Santana,  Stevie Ray Vaughan, Stevie Wonder, and countless others (my dim memory isn't speaking to me lately).

I will forever regret not having seen Jimi Hendrix or Led Zeppelin.... I just wasn't old enough.  Also missed were the huge ZZ Top and Tubes tours in the seventies.... those were what rock and roll was all about.

As I get older, I find myself lacking time, money, and opportunity to see my favorites, although I certainly do when I can.   Recently my wife mentioned really wanting to see Aerosmith again.  We went together, almost twenty years ago and had a blast.  I don't think anyone can explain Steven Tyler, at Social Security age, running around like a loon on fire, but no one really has to: he's Steven F-ing Tyler.

I missed the sale date for the tickets and went to Ticketmaster to look.  After a few minutes I nearly passed out.  If I were of a mind to spend $187.50 per ticket, I could locate a few seats but not two together.  If I wanted to sit next to my wife, that privilege started out at $394.50 each.

But wait - there's more!

If I really decided to splurge, say, a Christmas present for my wife, I could get a pair of tickets in the first section for only $1404.50 each.

Seriously?

Apparently I'm not the only one with this reaction.  There's a section where Ticketmaster explains that these tickets are not resale - these are first sale.

Seriously?

And there are VIP packages, where you can get a meet-and-greet with several band members, along with a laminated pass AND a lanyard.

Hold me back.

This goes well beyond sticker shock, not to mention culture shock.  I mentioned going to my first concert at thirteen.  I saw four national acts and it cost me about twelve bucks.

I do not mean to suggest that there is no such thing as inflation, the passage of time, or a fair profit.  This is just insane.  Fourteen hundred bucks for a concert ticket?  I don't care if Steven Tyler offers me sexual favors: I don't make that kind of money.  And even if I did, I couldn't justify throwing it at the band.  I couldn't afford this if Jimi Himself came back from the grave to give me guitar lessons.

Haven't we gone a little nuts here?  Concert tickets have gone up exponentially; moreso than even the amount we're being gouged for gasoline, percentage-wise.

I hung my head in shame at my failure to come up with a blockbuster Xmas present for my wife but the great majority of my guitars haven't cost me fourteen hundred bucks each.  To her credit, my wife agreed wholeheartedly.

In fact, my wife got downright indignant.

"Fourteen hundred dollars per ticket?  Screw you, Tyler.  You don't know me but I know you.  I saw you on every tour through Philthydelphia.  I supported you when you were so wasted you could barely see where you were tripping onstage.  I am a die hard fan.  Is this the way you treat the fans who have been there since the beginning?  I salivate when I see you onstage.  I can even forgive that picture I saw of you on the beach, topless, with your man-boobs hanging out.  I managed to get past my mother seeing you on tv and saying you were cute!   Sorry, dude - can't do."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I also did a search for ZZ Top tickets.  They're appearing at a small, amazing venue in the area.  I could not locate a single ticket (starting at $79 and up).

I love ZZ Top.  I'm reasonably certain that Joe Perry (Aerosmith) loves the Reverend Billy Gibbons almost as much as I do.  I am a huge fan of the first four albums or so, plus choice bits after.  One of their mottos is `Taste, Tone & Tenacity' and I couldn't agree more.

Unfortunately my wife missed ZZ Top's on-sale date and the concert sold out.

Much like our economy, concert tickets are heading for disaster.

Windows 8 and Linux

In his column over at Network World, Marco Chiappetta ate some crow over Windows 8.  I wanted to salute Marco for being perfectly honest and telling it like it is, however it is.  Marco built himself a system and tried Windows 8, in spite of his varying opinion of the operating system.

I read the article with interest.  As you probably know, I hate Windows: I'm a linux guy.  I am forced to use Windows 7 at work because no one has come up with a way to administer Windows networks under linux.

Windows 7 felt like a downgrade from XP to me.  Microsoft has become adept at hiding things from their users.  Some would say they're downright fond of it these days.  After trying Office 2010, I would have to agree.

Mr. Chiappetta has some really good things to say about Windows 8, specifically in the performance and lack of bloat categories.  In fact, I was almost tempted to give it a try.

Until I remembered the interface.

Of all the boneheaded moves for which Microsoft is responsible, this one contains the greatest amount of bone:

Hey, let's not only hide every function that is familiar to our entire userbase - let's disguise it behind an interface that is completely worthless on the desktop, not to mention mostly worthless on the tablet!

No, really, I would try Windows 8 in a virtual machine or a second machine (and I hate Windows).  But the interface thing really irks me.  I find the sheer hubris of it awe-inspiring, like Apple putting a different connector on their new phone.

Believe it or not, we in Linux Land have had a similar problem recently.   What you might find interesting is the way the entire issue was handled, both by the programmers and the users.  Something popped up a short while back as an interface for netbooks (remember them?).  This was before tablets became all the rage.  I downloaded a version of Ubuntu optimized for netbooks with this interface.  It lasted a few minutes, after which I replaced it with my normal desktop (XFCE, as in Xubuntu).  I saw absolutely no gain from using the all-in-one glob interface.

Flash forward to the here and now, where Ubuntu comes standard with the Unity interface, which is strikingly similar to what I've seen about Windows 8.  Unity has caused great amounts of disharmony in Linux Land.  My impression is that most don't like it.

Microsoft (and Apple) wish to let you know that if you don't think they know what's better for you than you do, you are cordially invited to perform an anatomically impossible act upon yourself.  On the other hand, in Linux Land, you can continue to use the clunky interface or install a different desktop and set it up to your liking.

I would give Microsoft a lot of points for simply including a function to switch between the normal interface and the new one.  But Microsoft knows best.


Marco - thanks for the input!

You Had One Job...

Dear Cell Phone Hut:

I wanted to put in a good word for the cell phone case you sold me last week.  You see, it's been a rough week...

IT all started with the surprise news that my brother was in.  He lives across the country so it's always nice to see him when he comes in.  Brother #2 was going to be out with Nephew #1 at karate practice, then we were all going to meet at their house for dinner.  Simple, no?

Not at my house.

I had one job: to perform the duties of my second gig.  There I sat, remotely connected to the office, performing away.

My phone rings, which is never a good sign.  I love my cell phone, largely because very few people have the number and even fewer use it.  It's Brother #2, calling to give me the food order, as Wife #1 didn't answer her cell phone.


My wife had one job: to answer the phone and take the food order, after which we'd pick it up.  The cell phone that, it turned out, was located right next to her head in the bed.

I interrupted my billable hours to take a food order, then YELL up the stairs.  Honey?  HONEY?  DEAR?  HEY YOU!

But it was not to be.

Of course it was not to be.  If she missed the phone ringing next to her head, she was certain not to hear my bellowing from one floor down, with the door closed and the room fan on Blizzard setting.  

At about this point, I realized my billable hours just got cut in half.  Up the steps I went to let my dear wife know what the plan was.  I was hopeful she'd be able to handle this, which is usually my downfall.

Brother Number #2 called.  I have the food order.  We're shooting for 7:20.  You need to call and get the parents' order. 

"What do they want?" 

I have the food order. 

"What time do we have to be there?" 

7:20, like I just said.  Hello.. is this thing on?

"So we have to call in the order at 7:20?" 

No, we have to be there at 7:20.

At this point, I'm looking around, trying to find who else might be in the room talking to her.  Or where the camera crew is, as we're obviously filming a really bad parody of `Who's On First'.

And when I say we have to be there at 7:20, I mean it's 7:00 now. 

"Oh." 

And you have to call the parents and get their order. 

"Ok."

OK is a bad word.  It can mean anything from OK to `Go f- yourself, I'm going back to sleep'.

But, ever the trooper, the wife got up, came downstairs, and called the parents.

And when I say called the parents, I mean she sat on the front steps, smoking like a chimney and talking and talking and talking to my mother.

I honestly had work to do but could tell that nothing was going to get done.  My temperature started rising very quickly and in a bad way.

Honey.  HONEY.  DEAR!

She walks through the front door and tells my mother I'm yelling at her to get off the phone.

You had one job: to call in the food order.

"I'm sorry.  What time do we have to be there?" 

7:20 - and it's 7:10. 

"Oh, I thought we were leaving at 7:20."

I'm doing all I can to keep myself under control.  My head is revolving like Linda Blair in The Exorcist and I'm spitting pea soup.  I know the camera crew must be around somewhere because this can't possibly be happening.

Who am I talking to? 

"I'm sorry - all I saw was your lips moving and some grumbling; I'm not awake." 

$*&$#@#) 

"Do you have the phone number?" 

No. 

"Look it up." 

$*&$#@#)

I hand her the phone with the number.  She immediately clicks an unrelated link then puts the phone to her ear while it surfs the web  [eyes rolling].  When I point this out, she tries to bring the number back, gives up and hands me the phone.

I can't tell you exactly how it happened but all I know is that the phone became airborne, launching itself all the way across the house, accompanied by her sharp OOH!

When we eventually located it, the phone was just fine but we could only find half the case.  So thank you, Cell Phone Hut, for the case that gave its life to protect my cell phone.

Apparently my wife became awake at about this point.  I need to remember that she can look awake when she's not :)    She then completed her one job; calling in the food order.

Off we went to pick up the food.  At the end of the street was a car.  A police car.  Parked next to another car, completely blocking the street.  We sat there and were actively ignored by everybody walking around, finally deciding to back out the other way.  7:20 was a remote fantasy by this time.

On the way to get the food, we were treated to the most interesting displays of Stupid Driving imaginable.  People riding their brakes, stopping for no apparent reason, then going through lights.

We arrived at Brother #2's house only twenty minutes late.  It was some sort of minor miracle.

And when we opened the food, the order was wrong.  

The restaurant had one job.....