A day at the shop and a much needed break from routine. The world is too full of divorced people who failed to give routine a broad enough margin. Outside of interest on my CDs, routine doesn’t do much for me. Careful not to quote me unless you understand the huge difference I make between routine and consistency. My history shows I can actually work around completely retarded right-brains provided they are consistent. Hey, look at the bands I’ve played in. It is when they try to think that problems start.
Okay, you want your daily picture. Well, I don’t have anything. Now hold on, I’ll find you something. It has to be current, original and something you’ve never seen before. You asked for it. This is a picture of the potted plant beside our pot at the shop. See the nourishing atmosphere as the plant strives upward, ever upward toward the light. Or possibly away from the pot?I installed Mandrake 8.2 and understood the process, attributed to nearly 16 hours of study time first. The computers in cubicles three and five confirm that the error was external. The DHCP had been changed and was not assigning IP numbers to my equipment. With computers, the danger of learning how before why is magnified 50x.
One customer today had the exact type of problem I like to solve, the one that defies all the logic they can muster. (They would hardly bring a computer tower in during business hours otherwise.) Error 670. Human error, pilot error. First, you take a dial-up modem and program in your ISP information, checking the box to remember the password to save you time because busy people are always in a big hurry. This morning, you click to dial in and while waiting you continue word processing a customer order.
You hit some gimp-feature command code that moves your insertion point into the password textbox without you noticing just while you are typing the word “Equipment”. Push enter and look up. Ah, here is the dial-up box. See the nine dots where your password used to be? But what is this message Error 670 cannot log-in to server? Count the letters in “Equipment”. See the little checkbox which said remember? It did. Sixty-five dollars please.
I will say it again. Even if you are the only person using a computer, still type in your password every time. That is why it's called a password, chump. Pay me now, or pay me later. Actually, Fred knew him so only charged him twenty bucks, but you get the idea. I get paid for what I know because I also know how to use what I know.
One of the ladies from next door came by, they need me to rig up the scanner. I mentioned how dead Nicky’s was and she pointedly asked what I was looking for. Much as I hate the term, I had to say “singles” but a place where the people might actually really be other than divorced, dumped or dishonest. She suggests Prezzo’s, a club near the Aventura Barn. Guess I’ve walked right past it. If I read her okay, this could have been a productive conversation because I was able to outright get her to say where she would go if she was single and looking.
I am not a fan of restaurant bars because they always act disappointed when you don’t eat. Further, I am averse to places where the clientele know each other by name – but only while I am on the prowl. I never liked neighborhood pubs (Cheers) for that reason and learned to actively avoid them after living in LA during 1991. I frequented this place where the regulars took bets on which newcomer was going to hit on Old Sally that night. They lost money on me, please, I smart enough to know I can’t walk into an American club and have a sexy blonde suddenly latch on to me. I’ll let you figure out what was wrong with Old Sally.
Mr. Kenney was in today. He mentioned that your life insurance may not pay out of you are killed on a bicycle not wearing a helmet. My position is that the life insurance place has no business sticking their nose that far into your business. On the other hand, I’m considering a helmet as soon as I can find one that looks decent. I’ve often said whoever designed the ones you see every day had a very sick sense of humor.
He also gave me a disk to crack, called “Ace of Aces”, dated 1933. That’s even before I was born. I see that for the first time since then, I am out of DVDs. Maybe I’ll drive all the way to JPs tomorrow to see if I can find any. I went over to the bicycle shop on Federal before dark and they repaired my gearshift. They tell what I have, a twist-grip model, is as heavy-duty as they make them. Man, that is rinky-dink because it is plastic that popped out of its own socket the first time I took a tumble. Listen, my HDD light is thrashing. I’m logging out. See you later.
Time for a complete backup. Something is haywire on that drive.
ADDENDUM
Anyway, on the way home, a lady nearly ran me down. No, not because I was biking. I was stopped outside publics on the bike, but in a no parking zone. I saw her and could not believe it. She actually turned off the road and drove straight at me. I moved and she steered at me again. For once, I did not have the camera on, dang. That was negligence if it ever needed definition.
She did not appear to even see me until she was less than ten feet away. Then she hops out of the truck. A black lady, the combination that says she has no idea how to consider anyone but herself and her rights. The only thing on her mind was herself. She didn’t ask if I was okay, only how she felt and how sorry she was, all about her. Screw that, like I was inconveniencing her or something. I followed her to the employee entrance, then got hold of her boss and let him know what happened.
When I left, she was being fired. Hardly seems fair for a near-killer but that is the best I could do. I could hear her trying to get away with it, but unfortunately, the boss was also black (male) and wasn’t hearing the bull. She seemed to think because she didn’t hit me, there was no accident. Wrong. It was plain with her attitude, the boss was looking for a reason to can her.
That is enough for today.
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