fine whine

I feel like a colossal boob. This morning I needed to call the help desk for (gasp!) an Outlook problem. A folder that I stored messages needing a response had somehow disappeared. Baffled, I made a cursory glance over all of the other folders and things (for lack of a better word like "features") in Outlook's left pane, and then, wearily, dialed the help desk. I spent more time on hold, listening to "Play" by Jennifer Lopez for almost its entire run length, and then somebody "logged on" to my PC (i.e. they took control, but I guess to call it such is too sinister) and within seconds had found my wayward folder in the deleted items of my archives. I was at once shamed and befuddled. I hadn't moved it there, had I? How does one go about deleting a folder? For not checking in there I felt like a total jackass, but really I can't beat myself up too much because there is no reason for the deleted items folder to exist, let alone for mine to have appeared there.

Something else that I noticed this morning is that the local ATM asks for users to "Please insert or swipe card", though it only has a receptacle to insert one. Would it kill somebody to determine just that and leave the other off of the screen? I understand the desire for generic universality, but still that just smacks of slapdash laziness. Contrast that with this mini PC that knows with way is up (the guy made two different cases, one for Linux and one for Windows) and boots the appropriate OS automatically. Can't we make an ATM that smart, with all of the professionals and designers behind it? Don't the people who build the machines communicate with the people who make the software that runs on them? I doubt it, and this saddens me, me with my engineering degree.

On an unrelated note, it is with great reservation that I am reserving (oops, used same word stem twice in the same sentence) Paul Davidson's Consumer Joe on boingboing's recommendation. I'd run across the title a number of weeks ago but I have been burned in the past by similar books of crank letters. The standard to which I hold all of them is the Lazlo Toth canon, written by former SNL funnyman Don Novello, and few so far have stood up to those letters. Others left such a slight impact on me as to have made me forget their titles and authors, though I remember one had a brown cover and another had an introduction by Jerry Seinfeld. Know this: I usually do not forget books. Maybe I am just reading too many. I admire Scott's resolve to read all of his books before buying or borrowing any new ones, but I can't logistically do that since many of my books are a two hour drive away. And when I had tried such a system with my CDs and DVDs it failed miserably. I still haven't caught myself up on the DVDs, and I haven't bought one in months, but that's what a well-stocked library system does to me.

And holy shit, Blogshares is gone. *Poof* and I am free of that monkey(x) on my back. I had a decent run, became a virtual hundred millionaire, was twelfth best player one month and even managed to break the rules and have both accounts open at once. I only wish I had kept my portfolio somewhere so that I could finally get around to visiting the hundred or so sites in which I was part "owner". Or complete owner, as in jwz's journal, a coup that netted me nine million virtual bucks for a cool hundred thousand. Oh well, I never paid them anything so I cannot complain that they picked up shop and went away.

I am so back on track with the novel. I've got my target rate picked out and I've already exceeded it for today. So enough about that. I needed to open up a new bottle of lens cleaner tonight, and as usual had to struggle with the stupid plastic they put on the top. You know, the stuff that says "Tamper evident"? I think if I were the sort of person to tamper with a bottle of lens cleaner packed in a box, I'd also get rid of anything that claimed to be evidence of any tampering. And what would you do with something like that? Slip red pepper in there? Some virus? Admittedly the eyes are a great place to introduce germs and contagions, but seriously, who does that? It's just like the razorblades in candybars idea: didn't they do a study proving the whole thing to be a hoax? And why do they have to put the same crap on my Cool Whip containers? I think I'd be able to tell if it's been tampered with, thank you.

And while I dwell on the idea of stupid production ideas, I'd like to find out why DVDs that claim to include "deleted scenes" don't include them all. I realize all footage isn't necessary, but in the example of, say, Old school, which features Will Ferrell dangling a fish on its cover (and in scenes I remember from trailers), doesn't include said scene in either the film or its outtakes. Why not? It was likely pretty funny, so why leave it out? Bad bit budget? Come on. And take for example The family man with Nic Cage asking "What am I doing here?" and two large guys in matching uniforms reply, "You're the best damn tire salesman in New Jersey", which too was expurgated from the film but not its promotional campaign. Could we have a little consistency, folks? Please?

Here's a tagline I'd like to use someday: "So ergonomic it hurts!" Why? It just sounds cool.

Speaking of hurts, though, and not so cool, it has been brought to my attention that I have fallen lax in my protection of wildlife by not crushing my Yoplait yogurt cups. Only now have I noticed the warning "PROTECT WILDLIFE/CRUSH CUP BEORE DISPOSAL" and I have been haphazardly tossing uncrushed cups for years. I think I squashed one once, but otherwise I must be responsible for horrible pain and suffering for wildlife.

But wait? Why would my cup-crushing or lack thereof have to do with nature? I should hope no bambis or thumpers are rooting through the landfill for a quick lick of some fine French vanilla or lemon. Or does Yoplait expect me to carelessly toss my cup into the woods, right into the path of an unsuspecting wild animal?

I think I'll still be able to sleep at night over this, though.

Today I should get my phone connection back. Last week it just stopped working, and I've been unable to use Trillian, Diablo 2 or anything else internet related. And I can't get or make phone calls, but that never really bothered me. Funny thing is, my wife has been really jonesing for her email. She's a message junkie, not me—the otherwise resident geek. Go figure.

I don't know about you, but I'm relatively incoherent in the morning. Especially right when the alarm sounds. Usually that infernal noise obliterates any recall I have of the dream just interrupted, but this morning I was awake before it started and had some vague remembrance of my dream. As usual its setting was completely unfamiliar. Most of what I can remember took place in some sort of store.

A lot of what I dream lately has to do with stores. Resale/junk shops mostly, but still, I have to wonder what that means. Anyway, the shop this time was an eclectic place, selling clothes, books and toys. The dream covered a couple decades' worth of world history, as evidenced by the constantly changing decor. One specific time I remember flags of Japan everywhere. The place was very political for a generic store, it would seem. The proprietor reminded me of the crazy army/navy shopkeeper from Falling down, burly, balding and rough. I only spent time in the toys section, looking at a display of puzzles of the sort where a couple pieces are put together and one needs to be removed. Over the years I browsed frequently enough to get on familiar terms with the clerk there, a nice woman who couldn't get me to buy anything. She talked to me anyway, though, and showed me the new items every year or whenever. The last time before I woke up she showed me one that looked really easy; effectively it entailed putting a rubber band around something. The woman conspiratorially told me that it was a favorite of her mistress. What sort of woman has a mistress, I wondered after I awoke...

I awoke, and was interrupted in my musings by my wife, who, already awake, was telling me the sad tale of twins named Alpha and Omega. She (hopefully jokingly) suggesting naming our kids in a similar fashion, say Sigma or Rho. This idea I vetoed outright, even for middle names. My run-ins with physics and calculus both left me leery forever of Greek letters wherever I find them. Perhaps for a cat then, she continued, and realized she'd already picked out a cat's name: Hogan.

Not named for Hulk, but the last name of the guy whose name emblazoned the lab building in which she spent much of her undergraduate days: Otis J. Hogan. She thought for some reason that I'd not be a fan of a cat named Otis, so Hogan it would be.

Which is fine with me. I'm no fan of the building or the man, but to have a house cat named Hogan would be funny... 'hogan' being a Navajo lodge., i.e. a house.

Har har.

I've been enjoying playing Diablo, the 1996 classic from Blizzard. I knew Blizzard's done some great games like Warcraft II, but I'd never tried the Diablo series until chancing across hybrid disks for both I and II (and an expansion) for eight bucks at a yard sale. I'm sure with effort I could've found this stuff for free somewhere, but I'd been looking for something to do with my Mac and Diablo's working fine.

And I've realized something. Game creators haven't made a cent off of me. Ever. I only buy my software on the secondary market. Often, very secondary, as in the case of Sam and Max hit the road that I just picked up for a buck a month ago. I also buy my music, movies and books secondhand. I'm almost positive nobody ever gets any royalties from me. Which is unfortunate, because I feel that if I'm going to spend money on a work of art or fiction or whatever it would be called (other than intellectual property which is generally a complete misnomer), a good amount of it should go back to those responsible for coming up with it.

But I'm too cheap to spring for full price. Which means I'm well-meaning, but tight-fisted. But I've got a lot of stuff on my shelves, at least.