It appears that I am back online, although I am not exactly sure how it happened.

Here’s the backstory.

When my modem was acting moribund and finally resisted all attempts at resuscitation, I called Comcast. After wading through the half dozen or so prompts, I finally spoke with a very pleasant woman. I explained the problem, including my having followed the recorded Comcast advice about unplugging my modem to let it “reset,” and that, after three days of doing that, it would no longer “reset.”

She sent a signal to my computer and said, “You are right. You’re not connected.” Of course, I already knew that I wasn’t connected. That’s why I was on the farookin’ telephone. However, wanting to avoid, at all costs, any chance of angering this woman and never again seeing the internet, I simply acknowledged that she was correct and that I was not connected.

She asked, “Would you please unplug your modem for me, sir?” Even though I knew that I had done the unplugging thing several times, I followed her directions.

“Would you please re-start your computer, sir?” I did that too.

“Now would you plug the modem in again, sir?” OK, Jimbo. Stay calm. Maybe this is part of the standard drill. I plugged the modem in.

I reported that the lights on the modem were still flashing simultaneously (the sign, I’ve learned of a disconnected or dead modem). After again sending a signal to my computer, she reported, “You are still not connected.” Deep breath. Count to ten, Jimbo. “I will have to arrange for a technician to come to your home.” She arranged an appointment for the following day.

When I arrived home from work last night, I received a message from my next-door neighbor asking me to call him, as he was having internet problems. He is a “computer guy” for a living, and I know that he also has Comcast internet service.

He asked, “Are you having trouble with your internet connection?” I described my problem, and he confirmed that he had been having the exact same problem. His problem started at exactly the same time as mine, and it behaved in exactly the same way. He had Comcast guys over already three times, the second two times after they replaced his modem. I told him that a Comcast guy was coming to my house the following day and that I would report that he was having the identical problem. In fact, we exchanged Comcast reference numbers (the numbers given when one calls for support/service).

Now, I am neither a “computer guy” nor a “cable guy,” but I figure that two separate residences (roughly twenty or thirty feet apart) that both have Comcast internet cable service, and both services come off the same pole, and both computers are having identical problems that began at and occurred repeatedly at exactly the same times, sort of suggests that the problem must be somewhere between our common pole and where Comcast keeps the magic machines that provide the internet service.

OK, so the cable guy (a very nice and polite fellow) shows up, “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

I reported my problem and then added, “This could be a little tricky, you see, because my neighbor in that house next door is having the identical problem, and it began at the same time as mine and occurred each time at the same time as mine.”

The cable guy politely but very firmly said, “I don’t car about any of that. I’m here to deal with your problem,” and with that, he hooked a little box to my incoming line and said, “You shouldn’t be having a problem.” Easy, Jimbo.He went outside and verified that the cable that supplies my internet service is separate from the cable that provides the TV service, so it wasn’t a “splitter” problem.

He then unplugged and re-plugged my modem (I’m thinking that thing may wear out from all this plugging and unplugging), and proudly showed me that the lights were no longer flashing. “You’re good now,” he said. To which I lamely responded, “You did exactly what I have been doing for the last three days, and it worked for a while and then disconnected.”

“Well, it’s good now, he replied.”

I decided to try again. “But my neighbor is having the same problem. I even have his Comcast reference number!” Still polite, but now very firm and visibly annoyed, he said, “I told you I don’t care about that. I don’t know what’s going on over there, and it has nothing to do with you. He may have six televisions hooked up and bogus splitters for all I know.”

He asked me to start up the computer, which I did, and sure enough, I was connected. He explained to me how the lights on the modem are supposed to look, and I didn’t bother telling him that I freakin’ knew that already.

I asked, “What should I do if this thing craps out after you leave?” He left me with his cell number, but it was clear that the offer of the cell number insta-response was good until 5PM and that any future crapouts would have to be reported to Comcast.

After he left, I called my neighbor with the bad news.

As it turns out, my neighbor explained that, after talking with me, he had spent additional time last night on the phone with a supervisor at Comcast and calmly and carefully explained the situation, including the part about my having the identical problem. At the urging of my neighbor the supervisor did some kind of fancy trace and reported, “Hmmmm, interesting. After the seventh hop, it died.” (Don’t ask me what that means, but I believe it indicates that something was awry at Comcast.)

Further, it appears that, after my neighbor’s call, Comcast may well have done something either internally or at the pole about the “Seventh hop and death” thing, because my neighbor’s computer had been connected to the internet since this morning.

My only conclusion is that the problem (somewhere in Comcast) must have already been fixed by the time the Cable Guy arrived here. Perhaps that’s what accounted for his amazing unplug-replug fix.

Either that, or this stuff really is magic, and we are all truly at its mercy.

So far, the lights on the modem are still not flashing the death sign, but I have no idea how long it will last.

The cable modem on my home computer is kaput. It had shown all the usual signs of its imminent demise (i.e. going offline and requiring resetting) over the past three days. It is scheduled to be repaired/replaced tomorrow. So nothing from here tonight.

I’ll have to find something else to do. Oy!!

Maybe I’ll read? Organize my sock drawer? Do a little guitar pickin’? Maybe spend some time with Mr. Recliner and fire up a nice CAO Gold Robusto?

Clearly, the world is my oyster, albeit an oyster without internet access.

Wizbang is again running the Weblog Awards Competition. Nominations are now open, and the details appear here. As you can see, there are numerous and diverse categories, including an award for Best Mexican or Central/South American Blog. (Note to self: You’d better check these out.)

A couple days ago, I looked through the nominations and noticed that this tiny corner of the Blogosphere was nowhere to be found. I lack the gall to nominate myself, and more importantly, I know that this operation could not win in any of the existing categories.

However, it occured to me that the competition failed to identify a very important category. Accordingly, I respectfully suggest that an additional category be created, entktled “Best Brown and Tan Blog.”

Although I originally had thought that I might well have a lock on “Brown and Tan Blog” category, I remembered this blog. I, therefore, have had to re-evaluate my chances, and I am now prepared to say that I might well have a lock on coming in first or second in this category.

Coming in second wouldn’t be bad considering that the blogger in question is a good writer and is exceedingly pretty. Besides, I know her father, and I would prefer to come in second and remain his buddy.

The annual survey of crime statistics performed by the Morgan Quitno Company’s has resulted in Camden, New Jersey being named the country’s most-dangerous city. Camden managed to knock Detroit out of the number one spot into second place on this most “exclusive” list.

The other three cities that made the top five are Atlanta, St. Louis, and Gary, Indiana. It should be noted that because the St. Louis police omitted 5,760 crimes in its report to the surveying company, St. Louis and Atlanta might switch places on the final list. I assume that this will come as great news to my Jawja Blogger friends. After all, being the fourth most dangerous city is way better than being the third most dangerous city.

For our part, we in Jersey always strive for the top spot, no matter what.

Today, at the Post, we will be holding the Great Soup-off. About a half-dozen of the “Usual Suspects” will each be bringing a pot of their “Signature Soup” for everyone to try. Like most ideas, this one was born over probably too many cocktails and a bullshit session discussion, during which we each bragged about noted our culinary mastery when it comes to a particular kind of soup.

So far, it appears that we will have the following entrants:

Rich: Cream of Potato, served with bacon bits, cheddar cheese and chives. I have had this one before, and it is a heart stopper. The good news is that Rich was a cook in the Army, so he only knows how to cook for a gazillion people, so there are sure to be leftovers to take home.

Original Bill: Chicken and Dumpling. Bill is a good enough cook that, if he felt like, he could quit his day gig and get a job as a cook. He is, however, a tad excitable, and I could see someone in a restaurant kitchen wearing a pot of soup.

John, the Other Lawyer: Cheddar Cheese and Broccoli. This also promises to be a real artery clogger. Knowing John, I suspect that this will be best consumed with a Gentleman Jack on the Rocks.

Bernie: Bernie is bringing Lentil soup, a favorite of mine. Unlike some of the other soup entries, this one actually might be healthy. It figures. Bernie is one of those forever-thin guys.

Dave: Cream of Mushroom. Dave is Original Bill’s son, and he clearly learned his way around the kitchen from his dad. I figure that he probably wound up wearing a couple pots of soup during the learning process.

Jimbo: Split Pea. I made an ass kicking, gorilla stomping pot of split pea soup. My Ace in the Hole is that I will be serving it with home-made croutons made with Russian rye bread, tons of butter and garlic salt.

There will be much bragging advocacy, analysis, and ball breaking commentary.

And, of course there will be cocktails, where everybody knows your name.

Update: The Soup-off was a great success. We did have another entrant. Junior brought peanut soup. While peanuts and peanut butter would be my “Desert Island” food, I had never tasted peanut soup. It was delicious and something my Jawja friends would definitely like. I think it would go great with some of that fine, clear Jawja rocket fuel that comes in a wide-mouth, screw top container.

At the end of the blood thirsty competition tasting, a vote was taken and it was decided that The Original Bill is the official Post “Soup Nazi.” Although I am biased, I think the basis for the vote was 49% for the soup and 51% for his “mellow” personality. (Note: The Original Bill has been banned from the local Home Depot. Some day, I’ll share the details.)

“Well, son, there’s Dasher, and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, and here’s Comet, and Cupid, and Donner, and Blitzen. Now, let’s talk about the Santa thing.”

Pic shamelessly lifted from Ravenwood’s Universe

Friends, are you feeling that your writing is getting stale? Are you tired of being ever so tidy about your subjects, predicates, tenses and spelling?

Maybe you’re bored with your writing style? Perhaps you would like to write more like Eric, Velociman, Acidman, or the amazing Jeff Goldstein?

But, maybe you really want to write like Snoop Dogg. Well, here is your chance. Check out the Snoop Dogg Shizzolator. Type in your blog’s URL and watch what happens. (You may have to enter it on the second page as well in the upper right corner.)

It’s da bomb, y’all.

Via Overactive Imagination

About 11 months ago I attended a Going-Away Party for my friend Lou, who was then on his way to Iraq with his Army Reserve Unit. For us “older” farts, it was a bit of nail-biter, because SFC Lou, who is my age, had already managed to survive a year in Vietnam, and yet there he was headed back into “the shit.”

I am happy to say that Lou has returned home safe and sound and convinced more than ever that the American Press just doesn’t get it.

I had the honor, along with about 99 others, to attend Lou’s Welcome Home Party tonight. A humble, soft-spoken man, Lou has now answered the call twice, and he is prepared for yet another round, should that be necessary.

I am honored, beyond words, to be his friend.

Welcome home, Lou.

Seeing as how it is the weekend, I thought you might like to spend some time leafing through the letters of Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890). Many of them are exchanges between the artist and his brother, Theo. They cover an amazing range of subjects, from art to nightmares and depression, and several even deal with his bout with the “clap.” The main page contains a handy by-subject matter index.

Good stuff, this.

Via The Ultimate Insult

The last 72 hours have been marked by a seemingly endless stream of comment spam. I think this has been the most protracted attack ever. Every time I turned around, fifty more would turn up. In each case, after having successfully entered the offending URL into MT Blacklist, I could see from the Activity Log that, but for catching them early, the fifty would have been eight hundred.

In the process of trying to hold back the tide, I know that I accidentally deleted about a half dozen recent comments (e.g. Shamrocketship, Rob, Velociman, Mike, Azygos and others). The good news is that it appears that I realized my mistake in time to prevent the good-guys’ URLs from being Blacklisted. However, if you find that your comments are being bounced, please send me an e-mail, and I’ll fix it.

I know that Rob has been hit pretty hard too, and he seems undaunted by it (I figure he’s too stoked about his trip). For my part, I must say that constantly having to deal with these intrusive maggots takes the fun out blogging.

This may be all you see of me tonight. I’ll probably be too busy dealing with the cyber-vermin.