Episode 31: Cyberwar With Windows 7

It took me freakin' months to get Windows 7 outta Arvato.

For those of you unfamiliar with Arvato, this is a company that is riddled with people from India all doing tech support. I don't have a problem with people of another nationality handling things but I require the following:

1. No Scripts. You MUST be able to interact with ME, not the other way around. If you don't have a working knowledge of how to communicate with me, don't bother me. I'm going off your script and I'm going to make sure your brain is gripped with panic from doing it.

2. Communicate With Each Other. If your department can't handle something as simple as communicating with another section of your fiercely-compartmentalized pyramid structure business model, then I'm going to return with a vengeance and then, your script will be like Xerxes' Persian Hordes at Thermopylae Pass. They won't count for shit.

3. You Can't Understand My Frustration. Period.

Arvato's employees needed me to fax over my receipt from my computer purchase in order for me to get the Windows 7 Upgrade discs. I did. Three weeks later, they hadn't received it. I faxed it again and called Arvato to ensure it had arrived, I was assured it was in the tech's hand. Three weeks later, another email stating they hadn't received it. Okay...that's it. The last time, I had to literally take a picture of the damned thing and send THAT to them. I did and called them. My order finally went through.

An hour later, another email stating that they would need another three weeks. Fuck. That.

I called them and was assured that a tracking number would be forthcoming. Naturally, that happened. One hand simply won't wash the other.

It still took about two weeks to reach me and then, I began upgrading.

One major problem...the backing up of files.

See, when you use the backup tool, it also transfers over all the useless files that you had lingering around since August. Naturally, that causes a problem. Once I'd upgraded from Vista to Windows 7, the benefits clearly emerged and made their presence known. I couldn't get over how great some of it was but that's when The Problem reared it's ugly head.

CRASH! Blue Screen of Death!

Anything over two gigs transferring from one hard drive to another caused my computer to blue screen. I'm digging into the computer's files and looking around, I'm doing virus scans and adware scans...nothing. Kaspersky and Spybot found nada.

Time to go online and consult with others who have expertise outside of my own range. Needless to say, my worst fears were confirmed.

On one of my days off of work, I sat in my office chair, Porky Piggin' It and having to literally do a reinstall. What that means is grabbing what I could and reinstalling Vista. Once the computer was back to factory settings, THEN I could upgrade again.

During Upgrade 2.0, I found the problem. Three game demos HP had installed were causing conflicts with Windows 7. Crap in a handbag.

I was doing a double-take at my screen. I couldn't believe it. I ixnayed everything that wasn't necessary to run the system and then upgraded. Now, it's working, I transfer files without a problem and all but I'll be damned if I didn't lose my gadgets and crap. Not that I really used it because I'm still a bit of old school when it comes to how I work with files and the like but still...all of that over three damn game demos?

So, as Tammi put it so eloquently at one time, I'm pissin' in high cotton.

...and my desk still looks like a bomb hit it.

Episode 30: An American General

General Larry Platt's Website

Look, I don't like the show American Idol and I don't really think it contributes anything to our culture. Furthermore, if this is the standard for which our culture is noted long after its dead and gone, then you can count on a race of alien beings looking at us and thinking, "What the fuck was wrong with these people?"

I also despise watching the auditions. Half of the ones they feature make me want to turn away and induce death by provoking Mirko CroCop into trading nuclear kickblasts to the face. I'll even let him go first.

The other night, I was actually subjected to this circus of sideshow freaks and overzealous cartoon characters (Skibo Ski, baby!) and then, at the end...he...changed...everything.

General Larry Platt stepped right into the mix with his song "Pants on The Ground" and blew me away. While the judges were laughing, I was screaming, "YOU'RE GOING TO HOLLYWOOD!!!!!" Still, Dickhead Simon had to crush all of that when he stuck staunchly behind that numbshit 28 Rule. That rule which basically states that you can't be any older than 28 in order to compete. Yeah, you gotta crush their spirit while their still young. Extinguish any creative spark and drive that kind of pioneer spirit out of our nation while mind-killing pop culture still rules.

The People Have Spoken...WE WANT PANTS ON THE GROUND!!!

General Platt's use of the pop culture tool was nothing short of brilliant as he used popular rap format to blast back at the idiots with all the gold-capped teeth and pants sagging.

Now before anyone turns on The Good General, let's have a brief history lesson. Larry Platt was actually a student of Dr. Martin Luther King...since he was sixteen. The guy found out that, at sixteen years of age, his testicular fortitude would ensure that there would be a legacy following Dr. King. He protested for Civil Rights in the 60s, he's done more community service than all of us put together and he continues to be a social warrior today. He's a social equivalent of Randy Couture. The guy has even had a holiday in Georgia named for him (September 4, everyone...mark it down) so, before you go lauding your minor accomplishments, ask if they stack up to this social juggernaut. No? Okay, take the bling out of your mouth and learn how to use a belt. You haven't done squat for society.

Getting back to Pop Culture As A Weapon, Larry Platt has truly earned the title of General and with that, I bring you the YouTube video.

General, I Salute You, Sir!

Episode 29: Law And Disorder

There's just something inherently wrong with the show Law And Order. Mainly, in every beginning, Jerry Orbach chooses to crack some off-color joke in relation to the murder that they discover.

I guess it's true that, if you're going to be an NYPD detective, you have to have a sense of humor but it's a lot like watching House's bedside manner. With Law And Order, gallows humor rules above all else.

Episode 28: Predictable Outcome (Year-End Review And Then Some)

Okay, so let's recap. I basically uprooted and hauled ass.

Look, it's not rocket science. I've had to sit around for thirty years listening to the tales of others having all these grand adventures while I sat around like a hobbit in a fucking hole and coming to everyone else's rescue. One day, I checked my closet and decided to clean it out. There were no superhero costumes, I wasn't Bruce Wayne and none of my weapons were as cool as The Punisher's and Superman isn't one of my titles so, guess what? No more "coming to the rescue" so to speak.

Frankly, I just got tired of helping others out to the point of my own detriment. I gave my last at times and the return on that investment was practically nada. You can only imagine the intense frustration at that. Imagine being thirty years old and realize that all you've done with your life is rescue others and all you have to show for it is a string of busted relationships, friends that only come around when they need something you have, a job that thinks you're so great that they'll promote everyone around you and a village full of idiots that would be just as happy seeing you crucified inverse and eviscerated to boot.

So, no red cape, nothing to really show for the time and effort you've put in. Fuck it all...go for broke and haul ass and never, ever, ever look back.

I'm not getting younger and I'm damn sure not getting any rescuing done to me so I hauled ass here to Night City. I settled into a place where no one knows me and no one really gives a shit. I'm not trying to save this city. I'm not trying to save the people in it. Fair trade.

First order of business was obviously to get a job. Honestly, had I known that it would turn into what it has, I probably would have taken another fucking line of work.

So where did it all end up? Right back where I fucking started. I've got this job that seems to think that I should eat, breathe, live, sleep and shit it 24/7/365. Negative. Today, it was pointed out to me (for the second time in two weeks no less) that I'm the "only one" that can do what I do.

I'm beginning to think that that's the problem. I've always been taught to do the right thing, even when it's not convenient. I know I've done it. Last night, I turned away drink after drink with the thought process that, should I refrain, I won't feel like shit. I wouldn't have a ton of lead in my ass that I'd have to drag around with me all day. I felt great about the day...New Year's Day. I felt awesome, indestructible and that I could accomplish anything. Nevermind the fact that I was scheduled off early today, though it helped. I was armed and ready to face my day. I had my trusty Swiss Army Knives with me.

Come getcha some, motherfuckers...

I fired up the cruiser and flew to work. I wanted to get there early. Even with the fucking around in getting shit done, I got done early enough to open our doors a whopping ten minutes ahead of schedule. I'd left lunch at home. Fuck it, I'd eat when I got back home. I tore down five boxes and began a little cleaning project, ripping into it like a rabid wolverine. At that point, I was a machine and I was unstoppable. That's when I encountered roadblock numero uno.

Apparently, this dude who was a prime candidate for the Bravo Network came in. He'd lost his phone at another shop and his ridiculous request began. A phone that would instantly come with 140 minutes free. Then, this dude did the one thing I cannot fucking stand. No matter what answers I gave, his nose kept turning up at me.

Okay, I may not be fucking rich and, if I were, I probably wouldn't be working in this bullshit job. I'd be the one rich dude in your neighborhood you wouldn't like because I'd tell you exactly what I thought of you. I felt my fist curling up and tightening. Something about a turned up nose just screams "Hey....AIM HERE AND FIRE WHEN READY!"

Still, another voice in my head screamed, "DUDE! PLEASE TURN YOUR NOSE BACK DOWN!" Finally, after much in the way of talk, he left.

Lesson 1: If you ever lose your phone....make sure it's insured through your carrier. Claim it and you'll get a new one. Promise.

The second one came in and asked if we had a certain GPS unit in stock. Of course we do and it's awesome! I went on my rant about what it could do and why it was superior to others (the very reasons I snagged one on Black Friday) and what I recommended with it. I thought for sure my day was about to turn around until I showed it to him and then he dropped the bomb...he'd already ordered one and oh how he wished he'd just checked us out first. Little by little, they filed in and beat my resolve until finally, I got a text message. My relief would not be coming today. I was in this one for the long haul.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I said when I called back. No way this was a simple text message thing. I've sacrificed too much in this place. My time off is something I've got coming. I can usually suffer a bit of inconvenience but this was too much.

Let's go down the laundry list of sacrifices I've made:

1. No podcasting or show because my schedule is never going to be anywhere near regular

2. Got a significant other who's not feeling very happy. Yanno, losing parents to cancer does that to you

3. No longer have a home life because, by the time I get home, I've got nothing left in the tank.

4. Lotsa frustration and nearly zero outlet.

I think I'll stop there. I'd let it be known that I was out at three. Non-negotiable. Pop's not doing too well these days and the plan was that I was going to his place to walk his dog (which I do happily because he's a generally warm and friendly pup who deserves a good long walk as much as I do) and help him take care of things he can't do himself. Needless to day, no one gave a fuck about any of that because I'm "the only one" who can do it.

Okay...that's it.

I've officially turned down any promotion. I'm never getting a pay raise if I don't get promoted and I'm also making my position known that this has already gone over the line. You don't continuously drive a car on it's spare tire, right?

If I'm the only one that means I'm irreplaceable and if I'm irreplaceable, I have total control. If that assumption is true, then it's time I take the velvet glove off of this iron fist.

Promotion would only prove disasterous. I have no home life as it is. Apparently, this place and I don't share the same belief system. See, I believe that my energy is worth something. The job seems to think that my best efforts aren't worth what I think they're worth. Something is wrong here. If I'm so irreplaceable, shouldn't I be kept happy? I mean, if I'm kept happy then I'll continue production. If not, I'll slap an embargo over the whole works and they can put that hollow platitude to rest once and for all time. If it's more than just a hollow platitude, then perhaps it's time to renegotiate the terms and conditions of my continued production.

Until then, I'm looking elsewhere. Time to hang up the "potential." The bills don't give a fuck whether I'm having a bad month of not, they only want one thing...the sign of the energy transfer and apparently, my job's getting their overunity out of me. I think it's high time the overunity came into my favor.