I’ve arranged a contest. The rules are to discover who is more successful, adventurous and useful. Anybody I meet between now and next Monday morning, or George, a piece of plywood I carry around on my bicycle. I’ve introduced George to a few of my acquaintances. George’s job is to be the base plate of my rear carrier. George comes from a long line softwood. I brought George home from the shopping center in November, 2006. He’s already winning because he regularly gets out of the house and does not watch cable TV.
Part of today was spent going over that mass of unanswered emails that clogged up the AOL in-basket. I’ll take this opportunity to thank AOL for an utterly retarded folder system. Unless you create an independent log (as I finally did) you are stuck with the AOL system and it is truly pathetic. Dragging and dropping email into folders either moves or copies the file depending on how you were viewing it.
Allow me to rag on AOL a bit more. They have a Spam report button – but it only works before you open the email. Duh, there, AOL. They also have the Delete and Delete All buttons right next to each other. The default set of folders behaves strangely. Spam filter, my eye – tons of V1@gra crap gets right through their system.
Back to those emails. As I feared, nobody was keep track of anything. The AOL folder system does not seem to share between computers. I found everything from unfilled backorders to potential million-dollar sales sitting around. Correctly figuring such incompetence was not confined to the computer, I rounded up every scrap of paper that looked like a printed email. It’s worse than I thought. It was my longest work day in three years.
I had to set more than one person in their place, again. It is amazing how many people think my address list is company property. There are no problems left around here that can be solved by brilliant flashes of simplicity, but that doesn’t stop some people from trying. Constantly. The systems I devise work, whether they are liked or not.
It was after dark when I got in, but I went for a six mile bike ride anyway. My grand tour of the Greydog parking lot is history, as the place is now full most of the time. That only gambling seems to have rejuvenated the place is a good commentary on what is considered entertainment in this town. I’m a quarter mile away and I’ve walked through the place once since it opened. The clientele is stereotyped down to the shoe buckles. Instead, I rode downtown and back, pondering things. I took George along and he is definitely good company.