Category: technology

Thursday’s Theme Music

After thinking about the dreams and feeding the cats, I was making breakfast and started singing “Black Balloon” by the Goo Goo Dolls (1999). I thought, why not have a song about falling into addiction as a theme song? Seems appropriate for this social media age.

Yeah, my thoughts are slightly spun by the impact of a dramamentary, or docudrama, The Social Dilemma, and all about the efforts to push us to like more and more to make these platforms money. Many people find themselves caught up in chasing information. I go in and out of it, but it mostly bores me. The same stuff is displayed again and again.

Anyway, here’s the music. Hope you find something in it. Remember, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vaccine. Cheers

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The Finds (2)

“Shit! Shit!” Scratched, exhausted, and dehydrated, Bruce fell to his knees and stared. There was no air yacht. There was nothing but an empty field of lightly waving weeds. “Shit.”

Trotting ahead, Jasper the dog paused to look back at him. Bruce let himself sink to his knees. That whole climb up, he’d been going through ideas about what an air yacht looked like. Between those ideas, he’d rested, questioning if there wasn’t a better way to get up the damn hill, and entertained ideas about the couple and their demise. Seemed weirder as he thought about it. As weird, the dog didn’t seem to care. The dog, in fact, appeared to have the best grasp of events.

Now, up here at almost dusk, knees quaking, back aching, stomach rumbling, Bruce wanted to spew. Stupid of him. Stupid. Jerking weeds out, he tossed them aside in anger. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” So erudite. His teachers and parents would be proud. Maneuvering to sit, he pulled out his water. The dog was still watching him, like he was waiting. “What?” Bruce called. “What?” Now he’d have a dog following him. Getting food and water for himself was enough struggle without adding a canine mouth to feed. Fuck. He should have never gotten involved. Should’ve just kept walking. That would teach him to be humane to another. Never again, no, never again.

Standing, he remembered the fob, peered around, and dug it out of his pocket. Nothing special, just one of those made for keyless entry to cars. Light gold, it had three buttons, none marked. What the hell, he decided, pressing the top button.

A series of short tones sang through the air, then the side of a vehicle appeared. Vehicle? Forty, fifty feet long…yeah, “A yacht,” he scoffed. “What the hell?” Gawking as Jasper trotted toward it, Bruce stumbled forward. The thing was tall, like three stories (levels?). Lights were on. It had a porch running most of its length. Steps led up onto the porch, where there was an open door. Jasper was just going through that.

“What the hell.” Suspicious, Bruce put a hand on the old man’s gun and exercised a slow three sixty of the area. No others were around. It was cooling as the sun turned red and drooped toward the horizon, less like it was done and more like it was giving up. Yeah, what the hell.

Pulling the gun out (may as well, in case he needs it) (and hoping he didn’t shoot himself — he really wasn’t comfortable with guns), he sucked in a few deep breaths and strode for the vehicle’s door.

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Alexa, Stop

My wife is arguing with Alexa again.

Alexa is the persona ’employed’ by Amazon Echo. My wife and the machine often argue. Usually it’s about the weather.

“Alexa, what will the temperature be at eleven?”

“Here’s information that might answer your question. Band members turn their speakers up to eleven in the 1984 mockumentary, This is Spinal Tap.”

“No, Alexa.” Alexa is still talking. “Alexa, stop. What will the temperature be in Ashland at eleven?”

“The temperature in Ashland, Montana — “

“No, Alexa, stop. What will be the temperature at eleven AM in Ashland, Oregon, today?”

We don’t understand why Alexa will suddenly shift states on us. Alexa’s been with us for a few years. She knows that we live in Ashland, Oregon. We suspect she’s bored and messing with us.

Today’s argument is about music. My wife likes belly-dancing. George Abdo is one of her favorite performers for belly-dancing music. She plays the music almost every day, sometimes several times a day. It’s quite catchy. I sometimes find myself hearing it and belly-dancing. Well, that’s what I call it. My wife doesn’t agree.

“Alexa, play music by George Abdo.”

“Playing music by George Straight.”

“No! Alexa, stop! Alexa, play music by George Abdo.” She carefully enunciates the last name.

“Playing music by Paula Abdul.”

“No, Alexa, fucking stop. What’s wrong with you? You JUST PLAYED IT AN HOUR AGO.”

Alexa doesn’t answer.

“Alexa, play music by George Abdo.”

“Here’s information that — “

“Alexa, stop. Just forget it.”

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Just Sayin’

I think some people miss the point behind cutting the cable.

Cutting the cable has been around for a while. It’s an expression used when you decide to terminate cable service. That would’ve once been unthinkable. When I was a child — yeah, here we go.

I’m a boomer, in my sixties. I’ve seen the rise of the microwave and electronics. Cable television came to my neighborhood while I was in high school. Before cable, we were dependent on ABC, NBC, CBS, and PBS. One of those networks had two channels in our area.

Reruns were the norm. “Bonanza”, “Gunsmoke”, “Gilligan’s Island”, and “Perry Mason” came on throughout the day, along with every version of a Lucille Ball’s offerings, game shows like “Jeopardy” and “Password”, and talks shows like “The Merv Griffin Show”. As this was a rural, churchy area, so we also had a lot of gospel music sang off-key with with a twang, and plenty of Bible thumping.

Cable, then, expanded our ability to watch different reruns on other channels. We had, I think, thirty-two channels and we paid about twenty dollars a month. None were ‘premium’ channels; HBO, Showtime, and offerings like that were just being thought of and begun in those days. It didn’t come to my area until I’d left the area in 1974.

Still, cable offered us more. That was the point. Then, the point became, cable is offering the same thing over and over, or offering us things that doesn’t interest us. Upon returning to the United States after some overseas assignment, my wife and I subscribed to cable television. It was pretty good for a while. A&E was delivering fresh BBC television shows like “Ballykissangel” and “Doctor Who”. TBS provided reruns. “Original” programming was still a number of years away, along with reality shows.

Off we went to somewhere else outside the U.S. This time, upon returning, we signed up for cable, with some premium offerings.

It was no longer a sweet deal. The price had jumped to over fifty dollars a month. Pausing to put that into perspective, my income was about twenty-five thousand. Our new sports car cost fifteen thousand. Our phone bill (cell phones weren’t on the scene yet) was about twenty-five dollars a month. So fifty a month was a chunk.

Back to cable. Premium movies had already been seen, so I was paying for movie reruns, and they showed them over and over and over. The cable company boasted that we had one hundred channels. Our point was, there was nothing on that we wanted to watch.

That trend worsened, in my mind. We went to a hundred and forty plus channels, two hundred channels, dozens of premium offerings. Prices climbed, but nothing was on. By the time I cut the cable, we’d curtailed the premium offerings. No reason to subscribe because they offered so little. By then, we could rent videos, and then discs at Blockbusters and other places. Eventually, Netflix evolved.

We cut the cable ten years ago. I went with Roku and subscribed to Netflix. I remain a Netflix subscriber. I also subscribe to Hulu basic and Amazon Prime. Others come and go, usually for a month at a time. I’m not the demographic target, though; I have no interest in watching television on my phone.

I monitor streaming offerings, and frequently try them out on a trial basis. They’ve become bloated and useless. Let’s talk SlingTV as an example. They’re offering over a hundred channels for just $65 a month. But looking at them, I know that I’ll end up watching very little of that.

The same happens with countless offerings. They think signing on to more channels is a big deal. It’s not; it goes back to the same problem that plagued us when we had four channels: nothing was on that we wanted to watch.

Original programming helps the situation these days. So does stealing ideas from other countries or importing television series and movies from other countries. As we discovered with A&E, and then BBC America, the rest of the world has fantastic stuff. In example, one show that’s currently doing well in the U.S. in “The Masked Singer”. Just as “Survivor” was an import, so is “The Masked Singer”; it came from Korea.

In the end, this is another rant, innit? Just an aging American musing about the ways that the world does and doesn’t change.

At least with remotes, it’s easier to change the channel. You know what we had to do when I was in high school?

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Great Recommendation

I complained about my crusty keyboard in a previous post (Key Crust). A friend who is a member in good standing of Brains on Beer, aka The BoBs, read of my plight. Bob Hoesch suggested SYOSIN Dust Cleaning Mud.

Well, it looked interesting. I thanked Bob for the suggestion with the thought that I’d order it sometime. The product looked intriguing. Many things have looked intriguing though; would it work?

Sometime was this week. The product was ordered and arrived yesterday. It’s like glistening, funky blue Jello, at once gross and appealing. I immediately wanted to play with it and tested it. They recommend that electronics be turned off before using it on them, to avoid shorting systems. My computer was on and I didn’t want to turn it off, so I used it on a phone.

All I did was press it against the face a bit, and then roll it around several times.

It worked great. Surprised and impressed, I hunted other objects for tests. More phones were rounded up, along with the remote controls. The stuff worked so damn well, I was forced to turn off my laptop and try it on the crusty keyboard.

Verdict: wow.

Non-toxic and reusable, it’s made of water, ethanol, and guar gum. Its neon blue color began changing with use. I reckon that I have a few months of use in a jar.

And it is fascinating and impressive. My wife had turned off her Apple, so I used it on it, too. Then the printer. Then I walked around the house, trying it on other things. It worked on them all. It wasn’t always perfect, and sometimes required a few minutes of rolling the stuff around the object or pressing it firmer in, but overall, I’m damn pleased. It’s $6.98 that was well spent.

So, thanks for the recommendation, Bob. Keep ’em coming.

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Key Crust

As a writer, I’m forced to work from home during the pandemic. It’s not my preferred place. For some reason, the rambunctious noisiness of coffee shops draw out my muse. I think it’s because I’m there for the purpose of writing.

Unlike home. At home, it’s me, my wife, the cats, the phone, and the world outside my house. As with any job, distractions arise at home that interrupt the work flow. For instance, this morning forced me to address a major distraction: what is that stuff between and around the keys on my keyboard, and how do I get rid of it?

I don’t know why. Maybe I’m embarrassed by the key jam (you know, like toe jam?). I don’t know why; nobody sees my laptop and its key jam (key crust?), so why should I be concerned?

But logic doesn’t always drive my thinking. Neither does emotion nor physical input. There seems to be other realms forcing behavior.

I’ve had this HP Envy for six years. I’ve noticed the key crust before. I’ve tried cleaning it off before. Today, as I finished a second page, sipped coffee and addressed what happens next, I stared down at the crust. Resolution filled me: the crust must be removed.

First, though, the HP Envy name amuses me. Nobody has ever expressed envy at my laptop. The name seems like wishful marketing.

I’ve attacked the crust before. Compressed air has been used on previous machines. (My god, I’ve been using and cleaning computer keyboards since 1981, part of me thinks with a little horror.) I also have a little whisk tool. I’ve used these on the Envy, but the crust is impervious. I next employed toothpicks, q-tips, and various other slender pieces of things. None worked.

But now…ho, ho. I purchased an eyeglass repair kit this week. It has a thousand screws. The screws were what I wanted. I already have two sets of eyeglass screwdrivers. Between my wife and I, we have five pairs of glasses that we use that have suffered detached lenses or stems. In each case, a screw had popped out. As the glasses were otherwise fine, we certainly weren’t going to dispose of them. No we needed to repair them.

We’ve both been wearing prescription glasses since our early teens, dutifully going to doctors, get new prescriptions, and then buying new glasses as regularly as full moons. (At least, it seems like that.) We have a basket full of glasses. We often give old prescription glasses to charity so others can use them, but we have sentimental favorites that we can’t abide to surrender. Naturally, these are the afflicted glasses.

Although I’ve had the tiny screwdrivers for two or three lifetimes, they’ve never been at hand when I stared down at the key crust. Since I’d repaired a pair of glasses last night, the screwdriver set was right there beside me.

And the crust was right before me, almost…mocking me.

This had to end.

Selecting the smallest screwdriver, I carefully worked it around and under the keys, appalled and fascinated by the stuff I was recovering. This, I figured, was an amalgam of cat fur, human hair, and dandruff from us both, along with what the hell else, you know?

I had to employ an exact, tender angle. Each key was individually addressed. Rushing was out of the question. After a relatively short time (yeah, I have no idea how long), the key crust was gone, and the keyboard presentable once again. It really looks so much better.

Then, because I’d been at it so long, my coffee was cold, and but a swallow remained, so fresh coffee was required. Also, since I’d been sitting an hour, some quick exercise. Also, since it was lunchtime and breakfast had been four hours ago, lunch. Also, since my wife made some energy balls yesterday, a couple of them wouldn’t be remiss. Also, I hadn’t checked Facebook or emails (there could be something important there, right?). Also, it looks miserable outside (whose truck is on the street? Why are they parked across from my house?), so what’s the temperature? It rained all night – how much rain did we get? (Less than an inch.) How many more days will it rain? Oh, there’s a winter advisory out for snow over four thousand feet. That’ll end tomorry. Well, we’re not going anywhere, anyway – COVID-10, you know.

Finally, though, it was all addressed and out of the way. Now I’ve got fresh coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Now where the hell was I?

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Mysterious Ol’ Facebook

A small mid-morning rant, category: technology.

Facebook notifications won’t load/display this morning. After playin’ with it five minutes as I sipped coffee and doing a few searches for fixes, I shrugged it away and reported it. Not a big deal, really.

After reporting it and sending a screen shot, I noticed my FB support inbox was showing four new messages. I opened it.

None were new. One was over sixteen months old. They were all about my violations of their community standards. They’re a laugh.

One was a Bored Panda post I’d shared about people working from home and dealing with their dogs. This affronted Facebook’s spam standards.

Whaaat? They don’t want me to share humorous animal stories because they’re ‘spam’? Geez, I think I’ve been using FB wrong lo’ these many years.

Two others were messages updating me about my protests. They’d blocked two others because they violated their community standards. I’d appealed. These were notices that they were wrong, and had restored the posts. Well, good for me. Good for FB.

The fourth was an appeal I’d put in about another post they’d removed. They were reviewing it and would get back to me soon. Dated June 12, 2019, I figured their idea of ‘soon’ and mine doesn’t match.

Now, the most interesting thing is that the notifications that I can’t see on FB, I can see when I’m in my FB support inbox. Intrigued, I went back to FB and attempted to see the notifications through various feeds. No go. But the push notifications still pop up and load.

Well, it’s modern technology, innit? When it works, it’s great. When it fails, it’s a big friggin’ mystery. In the ol’ days, we’d clean the cache, or reboot, or sumpin’. I’m going to have more coffee, and see if that takes care of it.

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This Sunday

Sunday morning started with the usual Sunday morning white man with cat issues, which is replying to the demand, “Feed me, feed me, feed me, and get these other cats away from me,” in surround sound because I have three of them. They didn’t care that we’d fallen back an hour, clock-wise, here in ‘Merica. Their clocks weren’t affected.

Eventually, the beasts were fed, watered, and released back to the backyard wilds, freeing me to be me. I slid to the computer. That’s when the morning took an oomph turn. My mighty HP laptop wasn’t connecting to the net. Everything else in the household was connected; why was I selected for this cruel honor.

Something about the machine was off. Memories of being a younger person and working on my cars were awakened. I started car life with a 1965 Mercury Comet sedan. Forest green and automatic, a lively 289 V-8 was under the hood, as we said in those days. It was a stoutmobile. She’d run.

She was like my first girlfriend. I learned to do things, and did the standard stuff, from gapping and replacing plug and points (and all the wires) to brakes, muffler, and shocks, and all the fluids and fuses in between.

I think, because of that car, I’ve always since tried to fix things myself. Tried is a key verb in that sentence. (Is it a verb? I don’t know. I used to know these things.)

Details of what I did and the results will be avoided. No need to restore my stress levels by recalling those excoriating details. I worked on the computer for hours, returning it to connectivity. Doing so demanded a need to run recovery, a Microsoft Windows 10 process that’s not as nice as it sounds. Lots of personal files were removed (yeah, they said that wouldn’t happen, and they were wrong), along with apps and programs that I’d installed.

I had back ups of files, and MS does have some file recovery stuff. Eventually, though, I had almost everything. For some reason, I lacked the bible for the latest novel in progress. Don’t know what happened to that doc.

Reading old files slowed the process. Oh, there was The Soul Stone written years ago, never submitted nowhere. I read and enjoyed its first pages, along with Spider City, Everything Not Known, Everything in Black and White, and some stranger works, and the first draft of the self-published words, like the Lessons with Savanna series and Returnee. All still there, waiting for me to turn my attention back to them and do something more with them.

Not on this Sunday, though.

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Med Frustrations

Okay, gotta vent. This is one of those first world blues rants, the kind that deal with technology, systems, and customer service taken for granted that ends up failing and pissing me off.

I’m on two medical prescriptions these days. One is for my enlarged prostate and was prescribed for me when I experienced problems in peckerville in 2019. It’s all benign and is working well enough now.

The other prescription is for high-blood pressure. That was discovered as a result of my peckerville issues. I’d been borderline high pressure throughout my life but it was suddenly over two hundred thirty.

Changes were made in diet and exercise, and the prescription, Amlodipine, begun. I was always getting thirty day prescriptions. I shifted that to ninety day for convenience, and then, concurrent with COVID-19, I started using a mail service to refill my prescriptions back in February or so.

This was being done through Express Scripts. I set my meds up for auto-refill. All was going well. I was satisfied.

But, last week, I noticed I was down to nine Amlodipine pills. I hadn’t heard from Express Scripts. That surprised me. I went into my email and did a search to verify that I hadn’t received something from them. Nope. I logged into my account.

Finding the Amlodipine prescription, I noted that it wouldn’t be automatically refilled until 10/23. Well, that was too late. I put it in the cart and ordered it. Done and done. Went to my email. A confirmation email had been received. Wonderful. The system was working.

But…

Everyone expected the but. But what happened, I’m sure people are wondering, to set off the rant?

But, I didn’t hear anything else.

Days passed. I logged back into my online Express Scripts account after not receiving further emails. I checked my recent orders and shipments. Why, there are no recent orders and shipments. I searched via the order number they provided me. That order wasn’t found. I searched via the invoice number provided. Nothing.

WTH? I’d copied it from the email and pasted it in.

The email also had a ‘click here for order status’ button. I clicked it.

It took me to the login page, where I went through the same thing as before.

WTF?

I did this several times, re-reading the email and tracing steps, trying to understand what went wrong. I couldn’t. I’m sure this wasn’t good for my blood pressure.

I reached out to them via an email and explained my issue.

That was Wednesday evening. I heard from them today, Friday. One was an email. Call us. Two was a phone call. ANONYMOUS.

I didn’t answer that call; I don’t talk to ANONYMOUS in this day of scams where everyone and their dog is trying to con me, asking for donations, or pleading for political contributions. Their message: call us.

I called them. They claimed that the order put in was for my other medication. That was ordered the 18th. It’d been canceled because it was an overfill. By the way, my Amlodipine isn’t on auto-refill. Do I want to put it on auto-refill?

Seriously.

I don’t think this exchange did my blood pressure any good.

My response: how did my Amlodipine go from auto-refill to non-auto if it wasn’t the one that I ordered the other day?

Two, if I ordered a prescription, whether it was overfill or not, why didn’t I receive an email notifying me that it’d been canceled? Didn’t they think there was a reason I was ordering it? Isn’t it just good customer service to notify a customer when an order is canceled?

Three, if I ordered it on the 18th, why did I have an email from them that I received on the 17th telling me that they were working the order?

Four, if the Amlodipine wasn’t on auto-refill and they don’t show me or anyone else changing it, how was the order previously automatically refilled? Was that just magic?

They didn’t have answers for any of these things.

Perhaps I did push a wrong button on the 17th when I was processing online. Given their system, I find it doubtful. The product must be selected. Then, it’s right there in front of my face. Perhaps I had a brain fart and shifted from thinking Amlodipine to the other one, Tamsulosin. I’m not infallible.

And, yeah, given time differences of one or two hours, I suppose I can accept the idea that the order I put in at ten PM on the 17th showed up as being received on the 18th. That doesn’t explain the rest, especially the lack of an email telling me that the order had been canceled.

And that sucks.

Fortunately, I have an excellent local pharmacy. I shifted from them mostly because of the whole COVID-19 thing. Getting my meds through the mail with auto-refills took a few things off my place, thereby reducing stress, and eliminated the need to leave the house to get refills.

I called that pharmacy today for a short term refill. They were understanding. They would need to call my doc for the prescription, but no problem, they would do that. They’re so nice, I feel bad about abandoning them.

Then I called my doc’s office to provide a heads-up that they would receive a request, and why.

Well, the rant is done. I don’t feel any better after ranting. Too many loose ends. It’s gonna take a while to get over it. Meanwhile, my trust in Express Scripts has dropped significantly. There are just too many open questions about what happened for me to have complete trust. It’ll take time, probably years, for them to earn that. That’s what happens when a trust is breached.

Thanks for reading. Hope you’re having a better one. Please wear your masks.

Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

When I was growing up in the sixties, music was usually heard on the AM bands on my transistor radio, bedroom radio/alarm clock, or in the car. This was augmented by Mom’s music on her console stereo, and my sisters’ music on the older sister’s portable phonograph. It was red and gray suitcase with a record player inside.

By the end of the sixties, we were listening to more sources, including cassette tapes and 8-tracks. FM was coming on a purveyor of pop culture, though.

Overseas in the military, I depended on the Armed Forces Radio and Television Services. We had a heavy dose of popular songs. I listened to some local radio but not understanding the language was often a turnoff.

By the time I returned to the United States from overseas for the last time, it’d all changed. CDs were on the scene. Digital and the net were rapidly emerging. Radio stations became more segmented. I had three primary music stations in the SF Bay Area. One each for alt rock, classic rock, and top forty rock, which included pop. I had buttons for country and western, young country, R&B, soul, rap, gospel, along with the news, sports, and talk stuff. It was an amazing plethora.

Yeah, just thinking and remembering, that’s all. Today is sooo different.

All of was triggered by Genesis as my theme choice yesterday. Early Genesis with Peter Gabriel was much different than Phil Collins’ Genesis but I enjoy both. Fascinating how Peter and Phil also found solo success, along with Mike Rutherford of Genesis.

As they were all on my mind, I’m going with another Phil choice. This one combines Phil Collins with Phil Bailey of Earth, Wind, and Fire. Here’s “Easy Lover” from 1984.

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