Well now, THAT wasn't so bad, was it?
Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Last Saturday morning, at 9:35 am, we had a little electrical "blip". It was very short -- resulting in a power outage of, maybe, 20 seconds. People all over town reported that they experienced it as well, and there was no storm in the area, so I assume it was some sort of systemic problem.

When the microwave started flashing 12:00, and I heard my UPS screech out its warning beep, I wasn't too worried -- we had lost power for much longer, and the UPS/surge suppressor had preserved my computer just as it ought.

But then . . . .

When I went to start up my computer (which shouldn't have shut down, according to my UPS manual), I got this weird error message . . . . a message that I didn't recognize and which . . . didn't look good.

I fiddled about a bit with my usual emergency measures, but nothing . . . . nada . . . . zilch. So I called the motherboard manufacturer (as the error had to do with my mobo being able to find my hard-drive, and it wouldn't allow me to get into setup to reconfigure).

Several hours (and calls) later, I had removed and replaced RAM sticks, flashed the BIOS, etc., etc., etc. -- and the tech on the phone finally admitted to me that he was pretty sure the mobo was toast.

BIG bummer. I had built this puppy with my own two hands, exactly one year and 21 days earlier. Which meant that the one year warranty from the reseller had expired 21 days ago, and while I had a 3 year warranty from the manufacturer, their RMA process is 10 - 30 days (after they receive the faulty part).

I wept, both quietly and not-so-quietly, at several junctures during this process.

I had choices, but all of them stunk. Go out and buy a new mobo (if I could find one -- turns out the local computer store doesn't stock them, and this means a 45 minute drive to a computer store that might -- I said might -- have one), then send in the mobo for RMA and wait 10 - 30 days. I could always ebay the replacement mobo once I got my really expensive, really good mobo back, I guess. Being out of computer contact for 30 days was out of the question, as much of my work is done via computer. Not to mention that the withdrawal period for the blog-reading/commenting/writing addiction was unimaginable at that moment.

As an aside, one of the few disadvantages of living in a picturesque little tourist town which has passed ordinances to keep "Big Box" stores out of the area is that . . . . there are no "Big Box" stores in the area.

I did the last-ditch test recommended by the mobo manufacturer and went and bought an entirely new stick of RAM (which the local store did have) and tried the computer. Nothing.

It's Saturday morning.

I can't even begin the RMA process on the mobo until Monday.

All of my most critical information is stuck inside a computer that I can't start, because I'm so smart and all and put the information inside it, on the two reliable and expensive and humungous hard drives about which I thought -- "Oh ho ho, so smart am I! I will have them back each other up!" -- forgetting that none of the other "back-up" computers that I own can read those particular SATA drives.

I wept again.

Then I began limping along on a ten-year old laptop with a teensy-tiny screen to attempt to research whether I could somehow access the hard-drives with an adaptor, or throw them into an external case while I waited for my mobo (or my purchase of a new mobo).

I had forgotten just how slooooow this laptop was, and had forgotten that web-designers have long since stopped worrying about people with slow connections and tiny screens and don't give a flying fuck if you have to scroll a million miles to see an eighth of the screen with all the vital fucking information that you need in an emergency.

At that moment, I was IM'd by a person I know in town who is also a computer repair and tech trainer. I asked if they had such a magical device as the one I was researching, and it turned out they did. I drove to their house and picked it up.

When I returned and plugged the drives in to back them up to an external, one of the drives didn't work, and the techie, IMing me again to check in on how I was doing (just because she's as much of a curious computer geek as I am), mentioned that the error I had gotten might have been a bad drive, not a fried mobo -- and suggested that I put the drive that WAS working back in and see if I got the same error. And I didn't. And I began to breath a bit easier.

Turns out, after all that, it was one zapped drive -- not both -- just one. Phew. Breathe. Weep some more.

Problem was - the backup drive didn't contain the system -- but no prob -- I had a backup of the system. Yes, I would be installing some shit, but my data, for the most part, was still there. After harsh experience, I'm a bit of a back-up nut, but that doesn't mean that I'm always completely smart about it, or that bad things can't happen during a restore. So, I dutifully backed everything up again (slowly, via the limping laptop), and went to bed late Saturday night, ready to awaken on Sunday and make the 90 minute round-trip drive to buy myself a new drive (if they had them, which I would call first thing on Sun. morn to find out).

I have left out something about this day: In the middle of the whole fiasco (post mobo-death pronouncement and pre techie-savior help), I had a full on Fit of Pique.

"Why had this happened!?!?! I had all the protection I was supposed to have! I did all the right things!! Why me!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

I don't whine very often. However, I can state for the record that I did whine. Loudly. Longly.

I whined while my beloved gently uttered things like: "Well, if you ascribe to the theory that you create your reality, what do you think this might be telling you?"

At which I whinged even more pathetically, and vociferously denied that there could be any meaningful spiritual aspect to a completely bizarre and unwarranted power failure mixed with a failed Uninterruptable Power Supply. In the midst of this, I even managed to spew some completely disconnected bile about a human being that I was already mad at (which, strangely, seemed to help).

At any rate, next day, during the "church hour", I called the heathen-ridden, open-on-Sunday computer store which is 45 minutes away and inquired about hard drives. Which they said they had.

The beloved and I piled into the vehicle for an unaccustomed adventure (as you may know, I filled my gas tank last December or so -- we don't drive much these days). We had a good chat about my melt-down of the previous day, and creating our own realities and such, and I got my drive(s). Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

Where I discovered that the store-clerk had given me the wrong type of drives. So I called them and got a bit bitchy and asked them to check if they had the "right" drives, and if so, would the person on the phone personally go to their stock room and get two of them, and assure me, upon pain of death, that they had the right type of drives in their hot little hands, in which case I would drive over AGAIN and pick them up.

Which I did. This time, solo. Giving me further time to reflect.

The store-owner knocked some dough off the price for my trouble, and I actually got bigger and better drives than I might have. Home again, home again, jiggety jog.

Where I began restoring and installing and restoring and installing and remembering that there are a million little tweaks that you made to the system which you will never remember you made . . . . until they aren't tweaked anymore.

And I backed the whole fucking thing up, matched perfectly, to the second new drive, system included. The whole fucking thing this time, and an external back up, just to be certain sure.

So, here are the miracles and spiritual developments that I got out of a 20-second power blip and a failed hard drive:

1) The computer tech and I used to be close friends. We've had a civil but cautious relationship in the last couple of years after an unresolved conflict, and I would probably not have had contact with her if we had not just recently reconnected over the story of a mutual acquaintance who was undergoing some difficulties. She IM'd me the day before my computer crisis, and had she not, would probably have not IM'd me the day of the crisis itself. If she had not IM'd me, I would not have contacted her to ask her a business/computer question on a weekend. In the course of our communications about the computer, we ended up having a long conversation about the unresolved conflict that we had and the ongoing dynamics of our relationship as friends that I feel certain we would not have had otherwise. We both stated that we were glad that we were talking about it.

2) The bile I spewed about the person who I was "mad at" (but who was completely unconnected with the computer situation) might never have come to my attention -- or, at the very least, would have come up later -- and I got some very good insights about my own personal triggers and patterns by watching myself transfer my frustration about the computer onto this person.

3) I did actually come to my senses and listen to my beloved, and began looking at the "metaphoric" aspects of the computer situation: a) a seemingly random event which bypasses my usual forms of "protection" creates a situation in which I cannot access the information that I have stored, b) turns out that the access problem is NOT the fault of my "central processor", but is, in fact, a difficulty in the actual place I've stored the information -- it's not like it's "forgotten" -- I'm just not getting to it, and c) the situation makes it necessary for me to look elsewhere for solutions -- in places I might not normally have looked, and specifically, to access resources that I've had in the past (the laptop, the erstwhile friend, etc.), but that I haven't been using.

All of which is helping me to resolve this situation about the person I'm "mad at".

Well now, that wasn't so bad, was it?

Posted byPortlyDyke at 1:56 AM 2 comments  

Labels: Blogging, My Great Fucking Computer

Blog Vacation for Real
Saturday, March 15, 2008

Dear Readers -- Today, I had a motherboard meltdown. I'm blogging this from a "spare" computer that is balky, and it will probably be several days before my mobo is replaced, so there may be radio silence from the Portly Dyke until at least mid-week.

Visualize swift recovery for Charlie -- the computer of my dreams.

PD

Posted byPortlyDyke at 3:35 PM 4 comments  

Labels: Blogging, My Great Fucking Computer

Day 3 of 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008

I didn't pay any attention to the outside world or the news today, and I'm glad I didn't. I put my head down into a database project (for fun), and had mind-sex with my computer.

I love my computer. I mean, I really love my computer.

That's only fitting, I suppose. I built her with my own hands. She's my own personal Galatia, you might say. She's fast. She's sleek. She's ready and willing and able.

I've had my head up my own ass all day, and I think that was absolutely perfect. The weather outside today was . . . . . well, if I were measuring it by a Cat-Barometer, I'd just say that it was a curl up and sleep day.

I didn't nap, but I definitely rested. I relaxed into the luxury of nothing on my calendar, and traded occasional smooches with my beloved. All in all, a perfect day.

That's me today. I'm cooking on a couple of posts that are requiring thought and care. Look for them in the next week.

I didn't have a flying dream last night, but I did have a very interesting encounter with my sister in the dream-time.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:54 PM 2 comments  

Labels: Blogging, Cats, My Great Fucking Computer

I Comes and I Goes, Don't I?
Thursday, December 13, 2007

Just a quick note to let everyone know that I haven't fallen into a pit. "Work" -- that ever so inconvenient thing -- has been keeping me busy this week.

In the meanwhile, here's a little something in keeping with the spirit of the season (I'd embed it if I could).

http://www.jibjab.com/view/87953

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:48 PM 0 comments  

Labels: Blogging, Humor, My Great Fucking Computer, Video

I'm Don't Often Thirst For Revenge
Thursday, November 29, 2007

But tonight, I'm feeling ready to make an exception.

Since 11/14/07, I've been experiencing what my web-hosting company quaintly refers to as "glitches".

I pointed out to them that a "glitch" is defined as a "minor malfunction, mishap, or technical problem", while being completely unable to access or edit your own website for seven continuous days and only intermittently being able to see your site online at all for 15 days during a critical business time might fall more into the realm of SNAFU or FUBAR .

I am not yet ready to name said web-hosting company (until I get out of their clutches and secure my refund) -- suffice it to say that I have switched web-hosts, and have spent the last week weathering that transition, which has been entirely flawless on the part of my new web-host, and incredibly frustrating on the part of my old web-host.

During the last week, I spent an average of 3 hours each day on hold for technical support to the old web-host (they decided to "improve" the service they provide for all their customers by making a major and unpredictable change in server technology, charging for things that had initially been included free in the package that I purchased, and then pretending that the problems that were happening were just tiny little mysterious "glitches", even though they were happening to so many people that the support queue usually said things like: "Welcome! You are number 235 in the queue! We apologize for any inconvenience!" ).

In fact, I think I was apologized to over 500 times this week by this company, by email, phone, or IM chat. At a certain point, apology begins not only to mean nothing, but to become infuriating -- at one point, when a tech greeted me with a cheery: "Hi! I'm Kevin! How are you today?", I responded, calmly but authentically, "Not so fucking good. My site's been inoperable for 5 days now."

He actually had the temerity to scold me for swearing. I was so busy being astounded by this that I actually stopped swearing for a minute.

For now, all is well. Sites are operational. New host is pleasant, efficient, and knowledgeable. I may actually get some posts written.

In the spirit of how I've spent the day(s) since Thanksgiving (well kind of -- except in this case, I was the "smart" one, helping talk my "tech support" through the ins and outs of their own control panel application):



I may be spotty on posting this weekend, as I am teaching a two-day workshop -- then again, I may have lots to say.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 8:10 PM 3 comments  

Labels: Humor, My Great Fucking Computer, Video

Just for Mary Tracy9
Sunday, November 25, 2007

A reader expressed dismay that I did not actually go into DETAIL on the Ten Commandments in my last post -- and since I am, after all:

Posted byPortlyDyke at 1:59 PM 10 comments  

Labels: Blogging, My Great Fucking Computer, National Bible Week

The Ten Commandments as Push-Back
Saturday, November 24, 2007

Our story so far: God creates this Earth thingy, and a bunch of plants and animals to decorate it, and a thingy called "Man/Adam".

Man/Adam is lonely, so God clones a "help-meet" (whatever the fuck that is) for Man/Adam, by taking a discrete sample of his DNA (Lolcatbible Gen 2:23 "I calz her "whoa man!", k? -- cuz she in ur chest taken ur ribs"), which is kind of weird, since, in cloning, the clone usually ends up the same gender as the clonee (so maybe it really was Adam and Steve after all?).

For the sake of moving the story forward, however, let's assume that God really is a rocket scientist, and got all the parts to line up . . .

You know the rest of the whole temptation setup from Ricky Gervais, right?

Great, let's proceed.

Well, after God bounces the parents of humankind from the Garden, just all kinds of shit breaks loose -- brothers killing brothers, angels sleeping with humans, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria.

God gets disgusted with all the shit-breaking-looseness and destroys all life with a flood except for this one guy and his family and a shit-load of breeding pairs of animals which get packed in a big boat -- something about this size, if we have our cubits right:
Peachy.

Except, when this dude gets off his boat (after five months of animal poo and too much quality time with his family) the first thing he does is get stinking drunk and passes out butt-naked in his tent, and one of his sons sees his dangly bits, and there's this whole scene where NoahLushyExhibitionist curses his son's son into servitude.

Even though the son's son wasn't involved in the whole Daddy-I-Saw-Your-'Nads thing.

And that's why God meant for black people to be slaves.

Keep up, will you? We're not even half-done.

Despite God's best efforts to wipe out wickedness, the wickedness just keeps coming, (although God does seem to be able to "look the other way" in certain cases which I'm not going to go into at great length -- Abram *cough*liar, pimp*cough*).

However, there is this one story, which I will include because The Queen Cunt of Fuck Mountain has ordained that it be so, and everyone in the entire Universe knows that all of us who frequent Shakesville are mindless thralls in service to Her every whim (unlike people who consider the Bible the inerrant word of God, who are free-thinking, intellectually-liberated types) -- and that story is:

Lot and His Daughters

The story of Sodom and Gommorah ("I rained down sulfur, man, there's a subtle difference"), and Lot's Wife Turning into a Pillar of Salt ("We were out of salt! You know I love the salt!"), are the stuff of publicist's wet-dreams -- the story just after? Not so much.

Which is why you probably didn't hear about it during Sunday School.

Sodom and Gommorah is a smoking ruin, and Lot has miraculously escaped with his two daughters (his disobedient, fully-salinated wife and his disbelieving, dude-you-so-funny! sons-in-law have been, unfortunately, destroyed utterly) and he is living in a cave in the mountains.

His daughters, charmingly called simply "Eldest" and "Youngest" (probably in keeping with their mom's family tradition of not actually needing a name as long as you've got a man), look around and cannot see any men anywhere, so they go all Spring Break on daddy's ass -- thusly:

Nice.

Incest, passed-out drunken sex which is all the fault of the women who perpetrate this on a poor man who has no idea that he's having sex, twice (to be fair, it was the "Golden Age" -- maybe penises and vast quantities of alcohol interacted differently back then), nameless women serving as incubators so that -- horrors! -- a man's "seed" will not die out, and the extra-added dominionist goodness of -- nation-building! -- all neatly packaged in eight short verses (and all this time I was wondering what part of the Bible the Xtians get their "family values" from).

With all this fucking and boozing going on, it's no wonder God had to come up with the Big Ten, to get these stiff-necked assholes to behave.

So, this will be the last installment of my National Bible Week Series. At midnight tonight, it will all be over -- Thank Ceiling Cat.

In closing, I'll just say this: Know Your Bible!!!! It can tell you all sorts of useful things about the Xtianist movement that would like to convert our nation into a theocracy.

Since we started with Genesis 1, let's end at the end:

I'd like to express my deepest appreciation to Zotnix and all the translators at Lolcatbible for making National Bible Week infinitely more enjoyable and fun for me.

Ai thnx Ceiling Cat fr dem.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 2:05 PM 3 comments  

Labels: Blogging, My Great Fucking Computer, National Bible Week