Update.

Monday am: Car battery died. Maintainance jumped the car, I went to work.
Monday pm: Car battery died. Boss Man jumped the car, I drove to Pollard Ford.
Monday pm: Nearly died while being driven home - some people should never drive.

Tuesday am: No car, Co-worker picked me up.
Tuesday pm: Ford called, left message. Alternator shot; took out nearly new battery on its way to alternator Hell. Need alternator, battery. Will have to order them.
Tuesday pm: Called back; no Ford guy to be found. Told secretary to relay message: go ahead and fix the damn car. Est. $480. Insert swear words.
Tuesday pm: Boss Man drives me home. He lives across the street. Creepy.

Summary: Pissed off as all Hell. In no mood to blog, and angry at world. Computer battery acting up again. Furious. Why does everything in my life break down all the time? It isn't like these piles of crap aren't high quality.

More swearing.

End.

Cat Attack

So I've got the fridge door open, and I'm reaching in to grab 1/2 a honeydew melon. No problem. I unwrap the thing, grab a spoon from the drawer, and head off to the sofa to eat my lunch. Still no problem. Suddenly, a cat streaks across the room, launches itself into my lap and starts going for the melon. It's a vicious attack, leaving melon guts all over my shirt. The cat starts consuming the melon, hungrily, like it's never before had a decent meal.

Finally, we strike a truce, and I flick melon bits onto the table between bites. Sitting on the table, the cat slurps up the melon as fast as I can pitch it. In the end, I set the shell on the table, and the cat gnaws on it, tearing off bits of rind.

Scary. When I eat the cataloupe, I'll watch my back. Maybe lock the cat in the bedroom.

End.

Keeping a log of brainless activity

WARNING: This blog entry contains shameless pity milking on the part of the author. While reading, remember that the story has a happy ending this time. The author cannot vouch for next time's IT tragedy.

*** Story below ***

My first week on the IT job, I thought I'd fried a computer. Remember? The Blue Screen of Death? I was upset and worried, and certain that I'd absolutely destroyed the computer. Boss Man told me that unless I saw smoke, things were fine. He assured me that we had simply used the wrong system disks, and that when we redid it using the right disks, all would be well. And it was.

This is the end of my second week on the IT job. And my subconscious self seems hell-bent on destroying a computer. Thursday was not a good day. Not really. I couldn't sleep that night, and my alarm screwed up and woke me an hour early. I was exhausted. That, however, does not excuse my brainless activity of the day. See title. Our job was to install neato DVDR drives into the computers down in the UWC. No problem. You just open up the tower, fiddle around for a while, screw things back in place, and close her up. Easy. Just make sure you disconnect the power first.

Because when you don't, you get to stomp on sparks as they hit the carpet. And you get to fan at smoke. And wipe scorch marks off of the equipment. Oh, and your hand will tingle something fierce, and twitch a little on occasion. But that's just a natural thing, when you jam a screwdriver into a live machine. Something to be expected. You know.

Now, in my defense, I thought the thing had been unplugged. I told my partner to pull the power, and he must have thought I had said that I would pull it. But I thought his nod and "yeah" meant something more akin to "mission accomplished" than "ok, go ahead and do that." Why would I have asked if it was okay, if he was standing by the power outlet?

In any case, the machine died. We pulled the power, put her together, and then plugged her back in. She was still grave-bound. And the monitor was shot, too. Bad move, huh? Well, while after something like this, I'd have liked to nod to myself, pack up my bags and head home in defeat, I instead called Boss Man and asked him to come and look at our mechanical corpse. After a description of recent activity, and a demo of the on button's lack of ability, he concluded that we'd call Dell the next morning. Today.

We didn't, however, call Dell. Instead, we started playing with the brand new, spiffy printer/scanner we got in for the UWC. It's like Christmas down there, with all the boxes, and wrapping paper, and shiny new toys. And with our new T-shirt uniforms (the flame-red ones), we'll be like little Santas, spreading joy and Ethernet connections.

Well, as we fiddled with it, we decided to move it to a desk adjacent to the flamed-out computer. We plugged it in, and ... no power. We thought for a bit, found a switch, flipped it, and ... no power. At this point, I was thinking, and please excuse my language, "Awh, shit, I went and blew the whole wall out. Good going, genius!" Well, Boss Man plugged in a power strip to indicate whether there was any power to be had at the outlet, and we came to the conclusion that all the outlets on the wall were shot. So we called building maintenance, and they fixed it. In the meantime, we hooked the printer up to a different set of outlets, and it worked fine. On a whim, we also hooked up our casualty, and let me tell you, when the green lights came on and the system booted up, relief swept through my body as tangibly as the despair I'd felt when the thing blew in the first place.

So, in summary, I once again, have not screwed up as badly as I supposed, and the only thing I ruined was the power source from the wall. Since that got fixed, I think, technically, I'm cleared of all charges. Hurrah!

There are two questions remaining at this time: 1. What will my subconscious mind think of next in its unending quest to deal fatal damage to a computer? and 2. Is there enough training time between now and start of term?

Oh, and sr, we each get three flame-red Santa suits, so there will be time to launder them between work shifts, no problem.

On that kinda happy note,

End.

Celebration!

Ding Dong! The jerks are gone!
Which old jerks? -- The upstairs jerks!
Ding Dong! The upstairs jerks are gone!

Last night was the most amazing, soundless, sleep-filled, glorious night of slumber for me. No doors slammed. No feet thundered up the stairs at one and two-thirty am. No vacuum rammed itself (self-propelled, I'm sure, because no one is this discourteous) into the walls and furnature at midnight. No thunderous rolling of the sliding bedroom window upstairs all through the night as jerky upstairs neighbors try to decide whether they truly want the thing open. No bedsprings sounded during the nightly sex-a-thon. In fact, no nightly sex-a-thon took place. And in the morning, no boxes greeted me at my door, no cigarette butts littered my doormat, and no frenzied screaming matches jump-started my day with loving kindness.

Rehkmira is pleased.

To top it all off, due to sudden jermophobe illness on the part of Boss Man (he really is a jermophobe--called to make sure none of us went in the office because the air was contaminated), I went on my second solo mission today. Operation: face screaming madman faculty member about inability to access the MOO. Details: two laptops were reserved for use this afternoon at two, so that aforementioned faculty member and thesis student could MOO with absentee thesis committee. Pretty important. Laptop number two was borrowed by Boss Man, and when Boss Man was sick and didn't show, all hell broke loose, as he couldn't be contacted to find the borrowed laptop. My mission: find the laptop, or spiff up a different laptop to perform the same functions.

Armed with top secret administrative passwords, I altered the laptop and went on call for the afternoon in case there were still problems. Since I have yet to receive a call, and the meeting is long over, I think my mission was a success. A smashing one, at that. Everyone was panicking because none of the IT people were there, and no one could find the laptop. In the end, I still fear screaming madman faculty member -- with whom I did not have actual contact, where he screams at me, but merely the peripheral kind, where a secretary tells me that he was very angry about the situation, and that he told her to tell me to drive to Boss Man's house, get the single key to the control room, and allow s.m.f.m. into the room to search, which of course, will never happen. In short, I now feel much better about the botched job on Friday.

By the by, that job wasn't a total screw up on my part, I am happy to inform you. We used the wrong ghost disks, so it couldn't have worked. And apparently, no system is totally ruined unless there is smoke involved (coming out of the computer). It was re-nuked, and then paved, and then souped up. Apparently, computers do not respond to continual nuking by growing second keyboards, or by spontaneously morphing into males (fatherboard and everything), as do frogs. I am happy for them.

This afternoon, while waiting for an irate phone call that would put me in hot water with three important Comp faculty, I taught CB how to knit. She has three successful rows under her belt, and might practice some at home before we see each other again. In any case, it has been an eventful and truly wonderful day, and I look forward to a second night of truly wonderful, noneventful sleep tonight.

Everybody eat a slice of cake in celebration. We have been liberated from the inconsiderate presence of the jerks upstairs. Wah-Hoo!

END.

Long Time, No Blog

Apologies. It's been an adjustment period.

I now have that IT job, and have been up at school running between floors carrying flashlights, keys, laptops, ghost disks, and various cords. We set off an alarm trying to nab one of the 201 computers for the massive, beautiful, technological wonder that is a new ($$$) addition to the auditorium. Not a noise you want to be right by when it goes off. Yes, that would be a misplaced modifier. Sue me.

I'm enjoying the job, and learning all sorts of ins and outs that I can't even keep track of when jotting down notes more copious than those I take for class. But C doesn't seem to expect us to recall everything immediately, so all's well.

I had my first solo flight today ghosting machines. It's a process I only first heard of yesterday, and only witnessed once before I started working on it myself. The first computer ghost session C stood over my shoulder and coached me through it. The second computer, he stood there and nodded, directing me when I got lost. Then he went off to buy supplies while I took the keys and tried it alone in one of the offices. Let us say, that in most cases, a little more training might be required before such solo missions go successfully. I crashed and burned, and the computer seemed to do something similar.

C wasn't due back until after my hours ran out, and every time I tried his cell phone, I got a busy signal. So I left a long and detailed note describing what I think went wrong, and what I did to try to fix it. I don't think it will be a big problem, since all this ghost stuff is what C calls a "nuke and pave" operation. I suppose one could "nuke and pave" the same computer ad infinitum. So perhaps we just start a new session and I try again Monday. But I must say, going from DOS to a flickering Blue Screen of Death (not the technical term, but one which accurately describes the emotions felt on viewing) is not something I want to do again.

Here's hoping I didn't screw up too badly. I've done well enough on the other stuff, at least. I'm very good at altering the how-tos so that idiots can use the equipment. I simply go through the stuff, and anything that doesn't immediately make itself clear to me, I add. Like the colors of flashing lights. Does red mean "get help now?" The theoretical "idiot user" will fear something like this, and needs to know. These people are attempting technology for maybe the first time, in front of three-dozen computer savvy students who are probably laughing behind their hands. They need all the help they can get in such a stressing situation.

Since we're on the subject of teaching, I will inform you of a grand discovery. I have talked to the secretary in charge of classroom assignments and GPTIs (graduate part time instructor--that's me and my kind), and I have managed to arrange my ten hours of GPTI work thusly: I will teach both Eng 1301 classes, and only grade for two hours a week. Let me repeat. Only Grade For TWO Hours A Week. I'm sorry, what was that? Oh, right, it's just that I only cut my grading time down to TWO HOURS/WEEK!!! My fellow GPTIs are teaching two classes and grading for 12-14 hours a week. I get to severely lower my grading time, and instead of telling students why they failed, I get to tell students and faculty how they screwed up their computers. And the bright red T-shirts that are our garish uniforms have been shipped, and should arrive shortly, so we can be moving targets in the hallways. Yea!

We're still working on the multimedia room that will be our IT haven, and I really hope the separation of GPTI and IT will work. I fear what the others fear: we're conferencing with a student and someone comes into the office wanting to know why their email is down. And then waits there impatiently, while we try to conduct what should be a semi-private student/teacher session. I see students becoming nervous about an audience, and I see that audience attempting to cut into paper writing, lunch consuming, paper grading, and other GPTI stuff. In short, I see problems that maybe a hideous red T-shirt cannot solve. But we'll deal.

And that's about all the new news there is on this front. Sorry for the delay.

end.

Update on the Big Move

My upstairs neighbors, the irritating ones, the ones participating in the Big Move, have a new moving tactic. They pack up some stuff in large trash bags, open the screen door to their porch (right above mine), and toss the bags out onto the ground by my porch. It makes a lot of noise, and once, there was something breakable in the bag that was not sufficiently padded to make the fall. That little bag toss was followed by a few rounds of swearing and blame-allotting. I can't wait to see/hear them move their furniture. I can only hope it does not involve throwing it out the window.

They're out by my porch right now, inspecting their bags and bickering over what sounds like a glass jar. Broken, of course, though padded with what, according to him, is a combination of her t-shirts and underwear. More on this development as it occurs.

End

The Monster Under my Bed

Many children grow up with the fantasy/nightmare that there is a mean, scaly monster who lives under their beds and waits to see little feet fall like manna from the sky. These monsters are especially active at night, when it's dark and the child/victim cannot see so well. One little toe hanging within reach will be snagged up by a horrid limb and popped into a horrid mouth to be devoured. Children often fear that the dust bunnies found under beds in the morning are the remains of other little children, who weren't so lucky and who got up in the middle of the night to pester their parents. Ah, childhood memories.

What's so funny is that I actually do have a monster living under my bed, watching for toes and everything! It has eighteen glistening claws, a maw full of sharp and deadly fangs, and eyes that glow malevolently from beneath the drape of bed sheets. This monster drags small animals under the bed to be devoured, and leaves clumps of viscera in its wake every morning. Sometimes, spider-like, the monster will leave whole animals in its sub-mattressean lair, stunned and unable to escape, but live and warm for the next meal. [The monster doesn't seem too interested in hamsters, though, so certain readers need not fear.] Toes, on the other foot, are a favorite meal, when the monster can catch them. It likes them raw and wriggly, with or without polish on the nails. Yes, toes have much to fear at night.

I have done some research into this monster's habits, and have even stealthily penetrated its lair deep under the mattress to discover--to my utter horror--the remains of previous meals. I now count my toes every morning, to make sure none of them went wandering in the night to encounter the monster. I lay awake some nights, listening to the snapping sounds of the monster at supper--the sounds make my toes cower together in a fearful huddle.

When will I be free from this monster? When will it be safe to get a drink of water in the middle of the night? When will those poor creatures escape, or can they?

Until the answers can be found,

End.

A Dangerous Mission:

Here is the pictorial journal of my travels to the sub-mattressean lair and back. I call it “There and Back Again: a Journey 20,000 Leagues to the Center of the Lair,” and yes, I know that’s a conglomeration of stolen titles. Forgive me for being one of those strange English Major Folk. For your enjoyment:

Determined to find out for myself the truth behind the growling at night, I approached the dense curtain of fleece that hides the entrance to the sub-mattressean lair of the monster.
 

I made a grisly discovery right off the bat. The green creature is the rare Mousius woolius, and that white blob behind it is, no doubt a bit of viscera previously associated very closely with the mouse. I continued onward.
 

More viscera! The puffy off-white blobs in the left part of the picture are actually the shredded innards of countless small victims. And more victims. What a sad world. In the foreground, you can see M. woodicus, close relative to M. woolius. This shot also captures the tragic M jingleae, the "jingle mouse," and introduces the Beeus bumbelus, in white and black. Some yellow might also be visible. Lastly, we've got a clear view of what scientists have been calling the "small red ball," distantly related to the "great red spot" on certain Jovian planets. How the monster managed to capture a galactic wonder is something to ponder. My toes clenched as I moved further into the lair.
 

This next photograph expands the list of victims to include M. sqweekus, the common "squeaky mouse." If you examine the scene carefully, you will notice what I almost noticed too late-the tail of the monster! It was an ambush!
 

The monster! Here you can see the monster in all its murderous glory. I stood still, hoping it wouldn't see me.
 

No luck! The monster attacked, reaching out with scimitar claws to hook the cord of my camera. Clearly, the monster wanted no photographic evidence of its activity in the area.
 

Due I'm sure to a quick prayer, the monster suddenly became distracted, giving me the opportunity to escape that foul place.
 

Losing interest quickly, now that the prey (me) was at some distance, the monster retreated into its lair, no doubt to consume one of its hapless victims.
 

As the monster disappeared, I heaved a sigh of relief and ran from the place to recover from the shock in safety. I am the luckiest person alive to have escaped the fate of those victims in the lair.
 

Sheesh. This is never going to end.

Given my previous posts (the recent ones), I'm sure you can guess that I'm having pipe problems. Again. This time, the problem has migrated to the kitchen. I now have nasty water bubbling up my kitchen sink, and it only comes up faster when I try to use the disposal to rid myself of it. Thankfully, when the neighbors aren't running water the nasties go back down after about half an hour.

I've already called maintainance, and they've sent over a worker. He said the real plumbers were coming tomorrow morning to deal with the major pipe problems next door (the other complext across the street), and he'll have them come over here when they're done, and use their uber-long pipe snake to get rid of the clog. Apparently the clog is quite a ways away, and can't be reached by the regular maintainance-man pipe snake.

And that's about it.

End.

Happy Birthday Charlotte

Today is my kitty's birthday, as you no doubt could tell from the title. I've given her a squeaky toy (and taken away one of her tennis balls to compensate...she only needs one, really), and she seems to love it. I'm glad, but in a way, I'm very worried about this squeaky mouse thing. Late at night, when I'm nearly asleep, I just know I will hear the thing and freak out at the unfamiliar noise. Charlotte herself jingles, so bell noises are fine. This mouse thing is a very realistic squeak. But I'll deal.

And that's about it for now. I've spent the whole day playing with Charlotte. I'm about to drive around collecting mail and feeding fish. Then some copies at school... and back home to map. I've got some pictures of Charlotte the birthday cat that I'll post up some time soon.

End.

Hmmm

Well, the pipe problem seems to be solved, though I'm leaving towels down tonight to make sure.

I made some chili last night, and while it's good, I vastly prefer my old recipie. This one was just too tomato-ey. Plus, it isn't exactly chili weather. I'm glad I decided to freeze all but a second meal of it. The okra, however, was wonderful, as usual. I love okra. It's always okra weather.

My mapping is nearly complete. I have the entire planet mapped out in rough outline form. I've drawn in a few mountain ranges, and two important rivers. For the rest, I will want many copies as backup, so I don't have to rearrange all my islands and crap. That means one more trip to school before I start putting cities and other rivers in. Then comes the labeling... finding several dozen fantasy-sounding names in an afternoon will be fun. They all have to sound like they belong together, and they can't sound like crap. Let's hope the Muse awakes.

And there you have it.

End.