Thursday, September 27, 2012

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!

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

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.....


Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Mitt Romney's New Campaign Strategies

Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney has had a time of it lately, what with letting his true feelings for the 99% (47%) show and now the boner about rolling down plane windows.

Is this the logical extension of our presidential contests?  Probably.

IN the meantime, old Mitt has sacked his entire campaign staff and decided to go it alone.  His strategy, if one could locate it, is to get all the boners out into the open before November, so he can get back to denying that religion has turned his brain into Swiss cheese.

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


What happened to Romney's submarine?
Everyone drowned when he opened the screen door.

Has anybody seen Ann Romney lately?
Unfortunately she got sucked out of the plane when her husband opened the door at thirty thousand feet.

Why is there no ice in the Romney household?
The inventor died and took the recipe with him.

Did you hear that Mitt had extensive facial surgery?
Yeah, fans should stop when you put your face in them.  It's a dangerous situation.

Nobody knows about Mitt's first son, Bob.
Yeah, bullets should stop when you step in front of them. [see Cheney, Dick]

Why did Romney get a spray-tan before speaking to Latinos?
Because his advisors had to inform him he couldn't Photoshop himself in real life.

Mitt Romney:  rebuilding our country.  With Legos.

Why don't the Romneys use computers?
Because any one of those viruses can kill you.

Why did Mitt sleep in the garage?
Because the car elevator was broken.


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


Mitt Romney has decided, as a campaign strategy, to write some Obama jokes.
[duck and cover!]


What's the only thing dumber than bailing out General Motors?
Bailing out the bankers.

How do you keep Congress in line?
Sit down and have a beer with them.

No, seriously, how do you keep Congress in line?
I don't.

How does one top a multi-trillion-dollar bank giveaway?
With a multi-trillion-dollar healthcare giveaway.

Why do you need another four years in office?
There are so many lies left to tell, so many promises to break....

You have broken most, if not all, of your campaign promises.  Why?
Campaign promises are not like real promises.  They're more like wishes.


Monday, September 24, 2012

How to Get Rid of the TSA

The TSA, under the Department of Homeland Security, is the most hated governmental entity since the IRS, and with good cause.  You have no doubt read about the gropings, if not having participated in them.  The thing that surprises me the most is that people seem resigned to the invasion.

But I finally have it figured out.  The TSA simply has to state that women are not permitted more than one pair of shoes per trip.  That should end the misery quickly.

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

Know that feeling...

....where you think you have to go to the bathroom but you already did?  It's called deja-poo.

....when you have to get in line to sign up to wait in line for an iDevice?  It's call deja-queue.

....when you know someone's name but forget it immediately?  It's called deja-who.

....where you want to buy something but wait til it goes on sale?  That's called deja-Jew.

....when you watch a marsupial walk by, then its mother afterwards?  That's called deja-roo.

....where you wash your kid's hands and he immediately gets dirty again?  That's called deja-goo.

....when your stomach medicine causes heart attacks then brain cancer?  That's deja-sue.

....when your cat farts and five minutes later the dog farts?  It's called deja-p.u.

....when you have to reboot Windows, install an upgrade, then reboot again?  That's deja-suck.

....when you're on a trip and your wife stops at every rest area?  It's called deja-loo.

....when your wife's pregnant and you find out you're having twins?  That's called deja-two.

....when you have McDonalds for breakfast and Burger King for lunch?  It's called deja-moo.

....when Scooby sneaks up on Shaggy, then they see a ghost?  That's deja-boo.

[no one said they're all going to be gems]

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

So it's Monday, the worst five days of the week.  In case you haven't figured it out yet, let me put it in black and white for you: every day is Monday.  To make my first Monday of the week more interesting, I got to my desk to discover that one of my computers wasn't on.  Happy Monday.

I immediately suspected a coworker.  For some unknown reason, someone likes to shut off the power strip.  I fail to grasp the humor.  So I checked it and hit POWER and the computer happily continued to do nothing.  Once more, reseating the power plug, produced a blinking power indicator.  This is not a happy blinking.

Some computers blink away happily, like a hard drive indicator light.  Some blink just to brighten the days of their owners.  

This one mocked me.

When older Dells blink yellow, that's a really bad sign, usually indicating that the power supply or motherboard or cpu is toast.  This time it blinked green, indicating.... well... indicating that I've never seen a blinking green before.

Funny... I spent a bit of time Friday troubleshooting a nasty hissing and popping in the audio.  Hmmmmm......

#*#&@)$&$#_)(

DAMMIT - I'm too old for this shit.  I graduated from desktop work years ago.  I shouldn't have to fix my own computer... it's like bad karma or something.   Hey, the new guy is here for training - let's make him fix my computer.

No, it's my computer and if I want it done now and done right, I was going to have to fix it myself.  Plus the new guy probably uses a Mac or something.

Now it was time to call upon my years of desktop work.  And calling upon it got me exactly what happens whenever I have to call upon something from my past: blank stares and darkness.  Sometimes sneezing.

I couldn't help but notice that I just cleaned off my troubleshooting area in preparation for a reshuffling.  Along with cleaning, I put stuff away.  THIS WILL TEACH ME never to clean or put anything away ever again.

As the computer flatly refused to power up, I went for the obvious; the power supply.  Gravity assisted me in my endeavors, causing two of the four screws to disappear into the void of the carpet.  At this point I figured it might be a good idea to see if I had a replacement power supply (I'm mentally gifted, you know).

Of course I had replacement supplies.  I had them in every color, size, and connector.  I even had one that would fit exactly, much to my amazement.  As long as I was being amazed, I amazed myself by getting both remaining screws into the power supply so it would sit there.  

After briefly rewiring, I plugged it in and POOF.

No, I did not let the Magic Smoke out.  The unit came to life, surprising the hell out of me.  It's detours like this that I don't need.

In the midst of my repair, I got a call from the wife, who drove me to work.  Our mentally gifted cocker spaniel (it runs in the family) is once again discovering the joys of Dunkin coffee.  He hasn't done it for a while... perhaps he got bored.  He pries off the lid and goes snout down into the Dunkin Coffee Goodness. Apparently we need a locking cup because he was on his fourth try.  He's nothing if not tenacious.


Happy Monday.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Note to Attractive Females

Ladies, your MIS department wants you to know that we're available for all of your computer and phone needs.  While we know that it is 2012 and no one has a valid excuse for computer illiteracy, we also want you to know we're here for you.

Has something happened to you home computer?  Give us a ring - we'll take a look.
Do you need your Stuff transferred from your old phone to your new phone?  That's what we're here for.

We will keep going above and beyond the call of duty for you, provided you keep those `private' pictures loaded on the computers and cell phones.  Not only are you computer and phone illiterate - you're not bright enough to keep your naked pictures where no one can see them.


MIS - we're here for you.

Monday, September 17, 2012

lefty Goes Guitar Shopping

I don't get out much.  When I eventually get out, I am reminded of why I don't get out much.

Today it was guitar and mall shopping with the wife, nephews and a niece.  First stop, Sam Ash.  Someone was wanking away and I looked over to behold a guy playing a lefty Firebird.  This is a totally unprecedented site, as Gibson has never made a lefty Firebird.  Even the Custom Shop refused to make one.  Apparently they changed their minds.

After the wheedly-ing wound down I took my turn at the Firebird.  I don't plug guitars in much anymore; it has to feel good and play well first.  This one felt decent.  It appeared to have two covered mini-buckers and was black.  The tag indicated it was a Firebird Special at $899.  I played a bit and it felt decent.  Might be a decent deal at a bit cheaper but it didn't call my name.

The problem with Gibsons is that I'm spoiled by my Historic Reissue Les Paul.  Nothing feels the same, which tends to save me a lot of money on Gibsons.  Nothing has compared to date, except the higher end reissues.  Since there's no chance I'll ever see one lefty where I shop, I'm safe.

They did have a number of lefties, which was a pleasant surprise.

Guitar Center was next on the hit list.  These stores were in New Jersey, so I don't get there often.  Upon opening the door, I spotted a lefty PRS, at the bargain price of $3514.  I picked it up, hit a few strings, and put it back.  It was ok but nowhere near the magic I keep hearing about when people mention PRSes.  And not close to my Les Paul.

There was an 80s lefty LPjr for $1700, which was ok.  A couple of Strats and a Tele and that was it.  Still more lefties than my local Guitar Center.

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

My nephew was looking for another guitar.  His tastes are..... not as `refined' as mine.  He likes metal guitars with pointy headstocks.  As such, he picked up a few Ibanezes and found one with which he fell in love.  He bought himself a closeout 420 and his girlfriend bought him a Mustang I amp for his birthday.  They all loved my Mustang amp when I lent it to them; I had to ask for it back.  So he's a happy fellow at about this point.  No word on his landlord as yet.

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

I saw an Epiphone 335 for a decent price.  Does anybody own one?  I'm afraid of the Epiphone name.  I had a Gibson 335 but sold it because it was a fight to play it.

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

Walking through the mall, I came upon an Apple store.  I knew it was an Apple store because everyone was drooling and on their knees; wallets outstretched.  Nephew said it was an Apple store because people were saying, "I don't know what I want.  Just give me what everyone else is getting."


Friday, September 14, 2012

Samsung 10 Tablet - Is There an Ice Cream Sandwich for Me?

I have written about my trials with the Samsung tablet elsewhere.  I was kind of ok with letting bygones be bygones after my last encounter with Samsung.  The tablet behaves wonderfully and I haven't had any issues worth mentioning.

My T-Mobile rep told me that Ice Cream Sandwich would be available for the tablet in short order, so I waited for the day.  When the fateful day arrived, I hit the UPDATE button, but alas, there was no update.  Two more weeks of the same led me to write to my rep and ask where the promised update was.  The response was that I had to use Kies.

Stupid me.  I figured hitting UPDATE would update the tablet, like it has in the past and like every other device I have.

Not this time, buddy.

I had heard rumblings about this Kies thing but tried to ignore them, as I was having no issues at all.  The first thing I found out was that Kies only works on Windows and Macs: my two least-favorite operating systems.  Not a linux version to be found.  Not that we haven't tried; the Samsung site is chock full of people politely requesting a linux version of the software.

I figured maybe we linux folks don't need Kies, especially after reading the blurbs.  I really don't want to remotely manage my device, thank you very much.  I can do everything I need from the tablet itself.  Unfortunately one cannot update to Ice Cream Sandwich without it.  No one seems to know why.

Holding back disgust, I downloaded it on my work Windows 7 machine.   Have you read the license notice?  It's positively draconian.  Samsung basically owns all of your data, your preferences, and title to your home.  If I wanted a device that phones home, I would have bought an iDevice.

Firing up the software, I plugged in the tablet and noticed that Windows failed to load the driver.  Beautiful.... what a way to start the upgrade!  I tried again and failed again.  The third time was the charm.  Kies then indicated it was making the connection.  And continued to indicate it was connecting.  There was a round orange animated graphic that kept spinning, indicating that it was either working or simply that the graphic designer could make things spin.  And so it went, never actually connecting.

After putzing about with it for a few more minutes (it's tough when you have the attention span of a gnat) I gave up.   Later I went home, booted my laptop into Windows and tried there.  With precisely the same result.

If nothing else, Kies is consistent.

Again the tablet went away for a few days, as I was too busy to bother fighting with it.   Today I got brave and decided to try again.  I uninstalled Kies, reinstalled Kies, uninstalled the drivers, reinstalled the drivers, prayed to various and sundry deities and even brought up the page of the Flying Spaghetti Monster (see links).  Of course it failed miserably.

About to give up hope, I decided to work through the pain and fear and call Samsung.  It was a tossup as to whether to call Samsung or T-Mobile.  Usually the first five or six calls establish who you're supposed to be calling in the first place.  For some strange reason, I got it right - Samsung it was.

When one calls Samsung, one is presented with the typical Press Number Forty Seven phone matrix to talk to a human (or press one for Swahili).  I pressed the number for tablets and was connected in short order to a woman who seemed surprised I was calling about a tablet.  I squelched the desire to tell her that was the number I pressed and tried to behave.  It's not her fault Samsung can't get its phone menu together.

The nice lady was quite obviously reading from a script, as every question I had seemed to completely stump her.  While waiting for Windows to reboot, I asked her if she had ever tried linux.  She responded that Kies was only available for Windows and Mac.

Ok then.

I forgot to mention that the phone rep was a citizen of the US.  Or just outside of it, in Texas.  She finished up her script and very politely informed me she had to send me up to the next level of tech support.

No, really?

While on hold, I was treated to the whole Samsung really appreciates you as a customer bit, along with constant reminders that I could get tech support through the web.  Almost immediately, as in twenty minutes, the next Helpful Samsung Rep got on the line.

I'm sure you notice that whenever you get transferred from one helpful person to another, they always start by asking you for information that the previous rep already asked.

"Can I have your phone number?"

Why?  Do you suppose it changed between the last service rep and you?

Helpful Samsung Rep #2 began by asking how he could help.  Never one to miss an opportunity, I told him I wanted to get my tablet updated to Ice Cream Sandwich without benefit of that lovely Kies software, which doesn't work anyway.

He was immediately not impressed and mentioned that we needed to use Kies.  I countered by asking him for the executable and I'd get it to the tablet myself (clever fool that I am).  He simply insisted on Kies.

Realizing that I wasn't going to get anywhere by asking outside of the box, I let him drive.  We did the whole thing about uninstalling and reinstalling Kies, making sure the version was the latest; uninstalling and reinstalling the Windows drivers and of course, rebooting Windows.

I hate Windows.  No, really.  Every time I use it, I hate it more and for a different and better reason.  Windows turns out to be a very welcoming operating system, and I say this because when Windows boots up, the Welcome screen stays up for quite a while.  I feel very welcome whenever I reboot (which is way too frequently).

So we went through the entire Level Two Script for no apparent reason other than as an exercise.  Finally the genuinely helpful fellow said he had seen this before and I had two choices: try resetting the tablet or ship it to Samsung and they'd update it.

I wanted to make sure I understood what the rep was offering in the way of assistance.  I listed out and expanded upon his suggestions.

  1. Reset the device: meaning I would delete all of the information and customizations I have on it.  With no actual guarantee that the device would upgrade.
  2. Ship it to Samsung (again): meaning they would delete all of the information and customizations I have on it.  But they'd guarantee Ice Cream Sandwich would be there.
As it turned out, I correctly understood his offer.    I told him that neither of the suggestions was acceptable, at which point his typing increased speed and volume in the background.  He informed me that this was pretty much it.

Yay, Samsung!

I tried valiantly to understand the process.  The reason for Kies seemed to be that the update file was too large to get to the tablet via 4g.  I suggested that if he could tell me where to get the update, I would be happy to transfer it to the tablet myself.  He insisted that there was no update file.

If there is no update file, what does Kies download from the internet and transfer to the tablet?

The tablet indicates it is connected via MTP, media transfer protocol regardless of what Kies says.  I can get MTP working under linux so it shouldn't be a big deal to transfer the file (not to mention FTP and several other transfer protocols).

Either Kies does something with which I am not familiar or no one thus far understands what's happening.

I'm guessing the latter.

Friends don't let friends use iDevices.  Don't be an iHole.

I hate Apple.  I hate Apple products.  Even more than I hate Windows.  I have nothing against anyone else using iDevices: I just won't use them.

I have used android devices since the first Droid phone: I am a huge android supporter.  But I have to say that these kinds of experiences are precisely the kind of experiences that drive people to The Dark Side.  I don't want to go to The Dark Side.  I can't become an iHole.  I am the lone android tablet holdout at work for precisely this reason.  Everyone else has an iPad: even people with android phones.

SO....

I have gone to some forums for help as well as sending my T-Mobile rep a little love note.  I suppose I could root the tablet and install ICS that way but I really wanted to perform the update the normal way first (for once).

Stay tuned.  Hopefully something will emerge in the way of assistance.

Heaven knows it's not going to come from Samsung.



UPDATE

I finally gave up, backed up, and reset the device.  It attached immediately to the pc and Kies and told me I had an update.  It was all over but the shouting.  The shouting actually took place while trying to locate my Samsung information.  I tried the bloody website but every time I told it to email me my password, it told me the email address (which I typed twice to confirm) was incorrect.

Samsung is developmentally delayed.

I have an Ice Cream Sandwich device now.  The first thing I did was to disable the apps that annoy me (most of them).  Then I discovered the backup I made with RER Backup refused to restore.

It's been a long and painful experience.  Nothing has gone smoothly.

I will report on ICS as I mess with it.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Eleven Years of Slumber

Today is the eleventh anniversary of one of our country's saddest days: 9-11-01.
I salute those who lost their lives in this tragedy, as well as the ones left behind.
We mourn our losses, individually and together.

What has happened in the years since 2001?

No one has been held accountable for the multiple failures of our government and federal agencies to protect the citizens.

  • NORAD changed their timeline three times.
  • The acting head of the Joint Chiefs blew off the emergency to go over unrelated testimony.
  • Donald Rumsfeld was helping paramedics instead of his Secretary of Defense job.
  • Our armed forces were completely absent.
  • The head of the EPA said the air was ok to breathe.
  • Our media published exactly what they were told.  No effort was expended to investigate.
  • The 9-11 Commission's finding document is second only to the Warren Commission report in pure fiction.
  • Trillions of dollars were acknowledged to be missing from the budget.
  • To question the official conspiracy theory is to be branded unpatriotic.
  • Our `leaders' ran and hid.  That is all.



In fact, the only real effect of 9-11-01 is the curtailing of the Constitution and our rights.
The era of the Patriot Act: ready on 9-12-01, signed and never read by Congress.
The establishment of Homeland Security, including our good friends the TSA.
The only thing new this year is killer drones, flying all over the globe.


My heart is heavy for my great country on this day.  America used to be the beacon of freedom to the world.  Now its citizens eat what they're fed without question.  The only issue is which idiot to vote for in November.

And we are no more safe than we were before that sad day.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Who's Running this Cathouse Anyway?

The Season of Politics is upon us.  We're about to be mowed down by advertising.  The Republican Liar Convention survived the weather and the Democratic Liar Convention survived the president.  Ron Paul got screwed, as one would expect, and no one knows who Gary Johnson is.

In essence, we're screwed.

This is also no surprise.  Since we're all inside this luxurious handbasket on its way downhill, we should at least be amused.

Cue Joe Biden:

No surprise, for the third time.  It's Good Old Joe, sitting at a diner with some bikers.  He is in very close proximity to the lone female biker, as opposed to the two male bikers.  As if this weren't jolly enough, it all happened in Seaman, Ohio.

As if this weren't enough to tickle the old funny bone for the day, I came across his boss, President Obama, having difficulty with an iPhone.  The headline should have read Head iHole Can't Use iPhone.

DEMOCRAT PLANNERS TAKE NOTE:

You know me - I'm a Ron Paul kinda guy.  I wouldn't give you a handful of rocks for a republican or democrat.  But it certainly is amusing to note that perhaps the democratic candidate and his second-in-command should switch place.  I think most reasonably sane people would rather have someone who can handle a biker chick running the country than a guy who can't grok an iPhone.


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

My esteemed coworkers and I arrived at work this morning to discover a new parking policy.  I smiled when I read it, knowing that the natives would soon be restless, sharpening their pitchforks and lighting their torches.  The natives never disappoint.  In short order, I could hear the drums beating and smell the lighter fluid.

Out to lunch with a friend, I explained the whole parking brouhaha, including the pitchforks.  

He looked at me and said, "So there's a new parking policy that states people should not park in places where parking is not allowed."

"Yes," I assured him, "you understand."

He replied, "And people are outraged."

"Exactly."

"Ok," he said, and we went to another topic.


Saturday, September 8, 2012

It's Raining Trees

It's been a rough month this past week.   Finding out about my fried dying, back pain, the wife's three-day migraine and other jocularities combined for an interesting week.  Seemingly out of the blue, my wife picked up a postcard reminder that Renningers had a musicians' flea market happening and today was the final day.  We chose to view that as a Sign that we should get out of the house.

I woke up to gray, overcast skies.  In other words, it was a normal Philly day.  We checked weather online and decided to go; everything was covered anyway.  My wife decided to check her directions online, which I thought was a little weird, as she drives there the same way every time.  She came up with a more direct way.

Off we went, traversing the mighty Pennsylvania Turnpike, in all its gray glory.  Whoosh we went, past the exit we normally use.  I figured the new directions should get us there more efficiently.

Twenty minutes later, I asked my wife if she checked the directions.  What was the advantage - time, speed, directness to our destination?  She said yes.

This should have been a clue.

Further off we went, passing places with names I couldn't pronounce, nor would I care to.  As we got much closer, we went through Pottsville (no, really) then a few tiny little places where no one in their right mind should live.  Seriously, I was raised in a row house in Philly.  I moved to the `burbs as soon as I could.

Corn comes from the store, not the stalk.  Meat comes wrapped up, as it should.  Marshall the cocker is the closest we have to animals around here and I like it that way.  So it was bizarre to drive through these little hamlets with all of the stereotypes in full attendance. There were even two fat good-ole boys, sitting shirtless on the porch in their rockers.  One town even had a restaurant - a real fancy kinda joint with an Eyetalian name and everything.

For some strange reason the directions were completely accurate, down to mileage, and we hit Renningers exactly when we should have.   Only this didn't entirely look like the Renningers we usually visit.

I looked at my wife and asked her if she got directions to the wrong Renningers.  She looked at me and said she had no idea there was another Renningers.  Sure enough, my blonde wife obtained driving directions to the wrong Renningers.

I was not amused.

In fact, I was beyond not amused.  I stupidly thought that getting out of the house would be good for us, given the past week's festivities.  Nothing raises the spirits like guitar gear and Retail Therapy<tm>.  I was largely agitated that I had been separated from my bed for this long in this weather, using that much gas.  I suggested an immediate return to the house, where Marshall and my bed would be waiting for me.  Since my wife gave up sleep for lent, I mostly sleep alone anyway.  Marshall likes to barge in and spend some quality time on the bed, but only if the air conditioner is running and he can leave the bedroom door open.   Smart as he is, we have not been able to get him to close doors behind him.

My wife, feeling Uber-Blonde, insisted she rush us to the correct Renningers, as we would be passing that exit anyway.  Grumbling, I decided I'd go along for the ride, largely as I had no other way home.

It continued to be very ugly outside, as it tends to be.  We arrived at the correct Renningers shortly thereafter.  I knew it had to be the correct Renningers as it looked so familiar (and as there was almost no one there).

There are two outdoor pavilions under which there were a few people selling stuff.  The first one seemed to be the regulars.  As we walked through, it appeared that most were packing up.  There certainly weren't any shoppers.  The remaining merchants looked depressed.  It became difficult to tell if the ones not hanging from the rafters had already succumbed to depression or were waiting for the pills to take effect.

We heard a band, which was a good sign.   And when I say band, I mean a few people banging away at their instruments in no real semblance of togetherness.  Still, it beckoned us on to view the people selling musical equipment.  And when I say people, I mean a sad group of stragglers with all varieties of musical gear.

No, really, I saw lots of pure junk, an eight-track player with some tapes, a Soldano and a Dr. Z amp.  Cheap guitars (all right-handed) abounded.  I don't think there were many more than ten people selling.

Having exhausted the possibilities of the musician portion, we looked toward the band.   The band, as it were, turned out to be four young fellas who had a distinct inability to complete a single song.  They'd get going then stop.  They weren't painful when they started but they'd kinda grind to a halt and there would be radio silence for a minute or three, followed by an attempt at a new song.  I don't know if this was an actual band or a jam but it wasn't entirely successful at being either.

Don't get me wrong: I drove well over an hour to check out this event.  I had high hopes for it and still do.  I wish them all the luck in the world: our region needs more musical events.  Perhaps it was the fact that it opened at eleven and we arrived at two.  Maybe it was the weather.  Maybe it was too close to a college.

Failing the musical portion, I pointed my wife toward the inside area.  She asked for a rest room and I pointed her toward the large, white portapotty right in front of us.  I haven't seen a blonde day like this in years.  I had to point out a turn because someone was looking at the road repair guys.

If you have never been to Renningers, you really should go.  It's kind of like a long, multi-lane, very humid indoor flea market, where the vendors go home but their stores don't.  It's also beyond a time warp because although you see things that you remember growing up, so will your parents.  Ancient coats, clothes, `antiques', military gear (including nazi paraphernalia) and even an electronics repair shop.  I
stopped at the electronics place to chat with the owner about All Things Tubes.

There are all sorts of food stops in the market, some manned (and womaned) by the Amish.  I asked my wife if it was appropriate to give the ladies my card and tell them to call me at Rumspringa.  She was most amused but suggested it would probably be better left unsaid.

I really have to give this some thought.  The concept of leaving something unsaid is most foreign to me.  In fact, up until recently, I didn't know one could leave something unsaid.  This might explain my weekly standing meeting with Human Resources at work.

We did purchase quite a variety of vegetables and some chipotle powder, because everything is better with chipotle.

Overall it was pretty depressing and disappointing.  The humidity indoors was oppressive and most of the stores were closed (on a Saturday, their big day).  We decided to leave and were amused to note that we were the next to last car in the lot.  By the time we got there, we were the last car.  I figured that this must be the same kind of Sign as finding the reminder post card about the event.

Homeward bound we were, back to the gray turnpike.  Only things seemed to be a lot more interesting in this direction.  I was minding my own business, checking email on my tablet, when my wife kept repeatedly trying to get my attention.  I looked up and immediately wanted to look back down.  The skies were almost black, with stuff swirling in the wind, falling down on the turnpike and hitting cars.

There were things that looked like flocks of birds blowing all about the sky, with some eventually hitting our car.  They weren't birds and didn't appear alive at all but they were flying about in the horrible winds and impacting the windshield with a sickening thud.  For purposes of illustration, let's call it Flying Mulch.  We'll call it that because Flying Mini Cooper with a side of Flatbed Truck is not as easy to remember.

We are not used to driving in hurricane-type winds.  Even stranger was the fact that a whole lot of trees were bent over at almost ninety-degree angles.  There were branches flying too, plus tree limbs and leaves all over the four lanes of the road.  It got so bad that some of the drivers stopped doing eighty miles per hour and actually put their flashers on.  This is almost unprecedented in Pennsylvania.

A brief check of the weather on my smart phone let us know that it would be dark, with a chance of showers and five mile per hour winds.  Weather forecasts are the biggest joke on the planet, with the possible exception of Congress.

We drove through a few different versions of hurricane and General Yuck.  The Hyundai behaved flawlessly, which is more than I can say about some of the other drivers.  They were exercising their God-given right to do eighty in a hurricane and there was simply no one that was going to deprive them of this liberty.

Another check of the weather indicated that there were tornadoes in DC and Lancaster.  I had the sinking feeling we might have driven through a Weather Event of some sort but I preferred to remain ignorant at the moment.  You can't drive through a hurricane or tornado if you don't know it's a hurricane or tornado (right?).

It had almost cleared by the time we got home, which was just in time for the storm to have followed us.  Fortunately it was a very pale ghost of itself by the time it hit us.


As I suspected, both the dog and the bed were happy to see me.  As much as it seems better to stay in bed most of the time, I need to get out and have these stupid experiences so I can type them out for you, my readers.

Thank you for coming by.  If you like ThermionicEmissions, please tell your friends.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

I Talk to Dead People

For people who have difficulty around death, it is suggested to speak to the deceased as if they were in the room.

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

It was around my junior year of high school.  I was a precocious little turd, with a preference for doing things my own way.  In fact, very little has changed, save some gray hair.  I was (and continue to be) primarily a guitar player.  School served to annoy me and generally get in my way.

For some strange reason my high school offered a guitar class.  They even had guitars, albeit not a single left-handed one.  It could have been considered training for all my years of guitar shopping.  The teacher, an accomplished musician who could play a few different instruments, wasn't exactly an accomplished guitarist, so I was left on my own to learn and do a little teaching here and there.

It was at about this time that I realized I was not possessed of the patience and nerves of a good teacher.  If the student did not `get it' the first time, I was in no mood to try again.  In fact, I would rather have hit the student with his guitar than sit there and try to teach him.  I understand that this is my problem and to this day haven't tried to teach guitar again.

So I had a lot of alone time with my guitar.  There is a plaque where I used to sit, memorializing the place as the `leftystrat Honorary Hallway'.

Being the advanced little twerp that I was, I figured out how to rewire and modify guitars, using my own as test dummies.  One day, this stunning vision of a blonde senior wandered into guitar class for some reason.  From that moment, I was in trouble.

Historically speaking, my success with women certainly did not come from a natural understanding of them.  Nor was it my smooth manner, hirsute appearance, rampant sarcasm, or any form of social grace.  In fact, there is no discernible reason for any success at all with women, from the onset of puberty to the present.

I simply knew that girls looked really nice and I would love to be able to play with them.  Armed with only that knowledge, I needed to figure out a way to meet this blonde guitar player.

Hey - she was a guitar player with a decent copy of a Fender Stratocaster.  I too had a Fender Stratocaster.  And I figured out a way to get more sounds out of it than the stock setup.  Hmmm..... 

I introduced myself, told her about my switching system, and about four hours later, she was at my house, watching me operate on her guitar.  Later on she said it was terrifying to watch me drill into her guitar.

We became fast friends.   She lived fifteen minutes away and spent a lot of time at my house.  She was a frequent dinner guest and pretty much a member of the family.  I taught her some songs on guitar, which became my undoing.  She would sit there and try the same song over and over and over again.  After she mastered it, she would continue to play it over and over and over again.  This drove me up a tree.

She smoked, which drove everyone around me up a tree.  The rule was that smokers had to go outside - no smoking in the house.  My mother could detect one part per million of cigarette smoke.  I swear she could hear a match strike from two floors away.

One day this girl leaned over and planted one on me.  From that moment on, I was slain. An `older woman' was my first girlfriend.  This was a huge deal in high school.  The poor thing had to deal with a lot of grief because she was gorgeous and popular and I was... not.  I was kind of infamous.  The anti-popular.  And nowhere near the top of the looks scale.

I fell hard, as one does.  We spoke each other's language.  We understood each other.  We finished the other's sentences.  Two became one (and all that rot).

Good things rarely last, which is a lesson I learned the hard way with this girl.  She moved on quite a bit earlier than I did, to be polite.  This was my first love and then my Introduction to Heartache.

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

Years passed.  Women passed.  Guitars amassed.  Computers came onto the scene and I was an early adopter.   Back in the heady days of CompUSA, I ran into her.  Still heartsore, it was wonderful to see her again.  We exchanged numbers, then phone calls, then hung out here and there.  Her boyfriend at the time worked for NASA (yes, a real rocket scientist!).  We all went to see ZZ Top for the first time.  I think it was the Recycler tour.

A little later on she got married then divorced (as tends to happen).  We hung out during a rough time.  She was the kind of person who could (and did) disappear for years at a time and when you see her again, it all continued as if there were no gaps.  We were friends from way back.  It was nice to have a friend with that kind of history.

She fell off the end of the earth somehow after this.  
Life continued.

Around this time I started to develop a reputation for Karens.  One day I looked around and discovered there were a few of them.   My friend was Karen#1.  The woman I was living with at the time was Karen#2.  Everyone thought it was pretty funny but I learned early that the Karens themselves were not nearly as amused as everyone else with their label.

I ran straight into Karen#3 one day at work.  Due to a poorly heated and grounded room, there were literally sparks.  We moved in together and married.  She is most amused by all the Karens but is still not fond of the #3 moniker.

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

I'm not sure I remember how but Karen#1 and I managed to find each other.  She emailed me her phone number.  She had somehow run into another friend of my who sang in a band and took pictures of them.  Photography was her passion.  She kept asking me to check them out on Faceyspaces.  I kept telling her I'd rather cut off my own arm than join Faceyspaces.

Her number sat in my cell phone for a while, reminding me to call her and continue our friendship.   I don't have a ton of friends, especially of the ancient dear friend variety, so more was always better.

Time (and life) continued.

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

My grandparents and I were very close.  I was the first grandchild so the sun rose and set out my buttocks.  Fortunately I didn't realize this too early.  

My grandmother, tired of mid-atlantic weather, moved to Maine.  After a few years she was due to turn ninety and the family was all headed to Maine to celebrate.  I had a reputation for not showing up at family events and got the requisite stern lecture from my mother: You had better go see your grandmother.  She won't be here forever and you will regret it if you don't.

I was kind of agitated, as I fully intended to drive the eight hours to the hinterlands of Maine.  It turned out to be a great time for all.  She was very surprised to see me (yeah, my reputation was well-deserved).

My grandmother waited a few months then left us.  Some said she had done all she needed to do: the party was the cherry on top of it all.

There I was, right at the end of my mother's cliche:  I went and I am glad I did.

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

I got a weird call from my best friend tonight.  He sounded hesitant.   He went to look up Karen#1 and came across a memorial page.  She died.  No idea when, no idea of the cause.  I was looking forward to introducing Karens#1 and #3.

Unlike the chance with my grandmother, I failed to take the opportunity to renew my friendship with Karen#1.  

 And I am the worse for it.


Hang onto those who are dear to you: they have an annoying tendency to disappear without permission.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

It's SSD for Me

I had forgotten that when I ordered my new laptop, I had asked for a solid state drive.

What is a solid state drive?

It's a hard drive with no moving parts.  Think of it as a really large flash drive.  The effect is to speed up the entire process as the general bottleneck is the mechanical hard drive.  Since you speed up access to the data, everything moves faster.

Unfortunately the ssd arrived a few days after I had gotten a dual boot system all set up (Win7+Xubuntu).

How to make the switch?

There are a number of ways to change things around.   I figured I'd use linux to copy everything from the original hard drive to the ssd.  I also set up an external hard drive in case I had to copy things over.

If you are going to perform this, BACK UP ALL OF YOUR DATA.  Seriously.

Someone with a lot of class included an external hard drive case and cables with the ssd.  And some software that boots right from the cd (based on linux).  The directions were clear and concise.  And in several languages.

I was presented with another, easier way to switch things over when I opened the laptop and discovered an additional hard drive bay.  I moved the original drive to the second bay and installed the ssd in the first.  Since I used the original drive, which had mounting hardware attached, the ssd had too much wiggle room so I knew I had to be very careful while cloning the drive.  This wouldn't be a problem for me so much as a very helpful cocker spaniel and a wife without a single graceful bone in her body.

The included software seemed like the way to go, so I read the docs (really, I did!) and booted the cd.  In spite of having a few partitions, I went with the automatic cloning.  The timer said about an hour.  It felt much longer.

Have you ever had to keep a helpful pet from jumping on the couch?  I have.
Have you ever had to remind your wife not to FLOP down on the couch?  I have.

The cd finished and I rebooted.

And nothing happened.

I re-powered and nothing persistently continued to happen.

Of course the manual completely failed to cover this eventuality.  And I refer to it as an eventuality because stuff just seems to happen to me.

So there I was, deflated and on my own.  The wife went to bed and took the helpful cocker with her.

With absolutely no idea what to do, I figured this might be a GRUB error.  GRUB is the linux boot loader that allows one to boot linux and/or other lesser operating systems.  Windows doesn't play nicely with other OSes so if you have to use it, you need to install it first.  Then GRUB will provide you with a basic boot menu to choose which OS you want to use.

I went back and booted to the original hard drive, allowing me to access linux.  I checked and the ssd was cloned; all the partitions were there.

I have never manually used GRUB before so I had very little idea where to start.  There didn't appear to be a GRUB-SEARCH function, so I took a stab at GRUB-INSTALL (lower case, actually).  It's not a particularly good idea to guess at this unless you have lots of time and lots of backups.

If I remember correctly (and I rarely do), it was something along the lines of grub-install /dev/sda.  It happened instantly.

When I rebooted - POOF - there was my boot menu, right on the ssd, where I needed it.  I closed up, took out the original drive, put the hardware on the ssd so it could no longer wiggle and booted into linux.

HOW DOES IT RUN?

It started to boot then gave me something about DO NOT TURN OFF THE COMPUTER and did some sort of service pack thing.  Since I had just booted up, I had no intention of turning the computer off.  However, Windows did, so I had to re-reboot, at which point it went further into configuring some sort of service pack, stopping to remind me NOT TO TURN OFF THE COMPUTER again.  After about the third reboot, Windows fully booted and informed me that a service pack had been installed.

Alrighty then.

The speedup in Windows was also dramatic.  Things tended to happen a lot more instantly than with the original hard drive.  I ran another scan to see what Windows thought of the new drive.  It got done then told me it couldn't test the hard drive for some strange reason.  Since the only change was the hard drive, I did what I usually do with Windows; give up and boot into linux.

Ladies and gentlemen (and guitar players), you need to run down to the store and buy the biggest ssd you can afford to install in your laptop (and desktop).  You can also buy smaller ones just for the OS and put your data on a mechanical hard drive.  Either way you will love it.