Sgt. Hook, a dedicated soldier, great writer, and all-around great guy, is moving out to Afghanistan. His soldiers should consider themselves lucky to be led by such a fine man.

I wish him the very best, and I hope he manages to get his hands on a computer over there. Unlike me, he’ll most certainly be able to whip the thing into submission.

Good luck, Sarge. When you and your soldiers collar Osama, please tell him that this is another “Royal Irish Ass” he can kiss.

I considered doing this post as an “Update” to yesterday’s ravings, but I decided that it probably can stand alone.

First of all, I would like to thank all those, especially Dan and Craig, for the advice. I would also like to thank all of you for reading what was probably my least-edited, most angry post ever. Had I written it today, I believe I could have squeezed lots of yuks out of my four-hour beating that administered by so-called “support” folks. In fact, if someone would have recorded my interaction with the fellow from India, I believe it would be a laugh riot. The recording that one listens to for an hour before getting to speak with someone at Dell states that the call “may be monitored for quality control purposes.” I sure as shit hope someone monitored mine.

I figure that if I did not have a stroke last night, I’m good to go for many years. For instance, when someone whose English is weak indicates to me that they have not understood something I said, I typically repeat what I said, but I say the words much slower and clearer than I did the first time. This guy never did that. On those many, many, many occasions when I told him that I hadn’t understood him and requested that he repeat what he said, it was as if he pressed “play” on a recorder and played back the exact same unintelligible sing-song crap – same speed, with no attempt to speak more clearly. It was mentally and physically exhausting.

Anyway, here’s the update.

The gentleman from Bombay or Calcutta or from wherever did in fact call back as promised – Well, almost as promised. Instead of calling back in a half hour, which would have meant a call at approximately 11:15 PM, he called back at 1:15 AM and awakened me from a deep, but cyber-nightmare-filled sleep. He wanted to know if the problem was “all better now.” I have to assume that he thought that God or Krishna must have intervened in the ninety or so minutes since we last spoke.

I ambled sleepily over to the computer, just to be able to answer his stupid question righteously, as I knew damned well the problem wasn’t fixed. I said, “No. I am still getting the same error.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. “Eet is not better, suhr? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

After a pregnant pause (there were lots of those), he said, “OK, suhr, I vill call you in a few days. OK?”

I thought, “Call me in a few days? Why? A movie and a vegetarian dinner, maybe?”

When I got to work today, Mike, one of the IT guys, just happened to stop by, and I shared my story with him, including the part about my rage-driven bad blogging. He was howling with laughter until I told him that both of the support people insisted that I had to “re-add” my TCP/IP. He stopped laughing and said, “Both those people are full of shit.” At this point, I was thinking, “Great. Dueling IT geeks. Who needs this?” But Mike continued, “If you blogged about it all, that means that your TCP/IP was just fine. My experience is that problems like yours are almost always caused by a bad e-mail clogging up the system.”

He then told me how to get to my e-mail on the web (I have had Comcast for years and never knew I could do that. I know, I know. Color me pathetic.) and said, “You can probably fix it from here.” Within three minutes, I opened web-mail and deleted all the e-mails I did not recognize.

I then read the comments to my post and saw that Dan and Craig had suggested the same fix. Mind you, that is exactly what the Comcast person the night before had said (i.e. that “a corrupt e-mail” caused the problem), and I specifically asked Comcast Lady No. 2 and Gunga Farookin’ Din whether that could be the problem, and both insisted that, “Nooooo. It is a much bigger problem.” Neither of these “experts” ever asked me whether I could connect to the internet. Unbelievable.

The ultimate test came when I arrived home earlier and clicked on Microsoft Outlook, and out poured my e-mails. Eureka!!

A couple parting thoughts:

To Comcast:

Try to find people who know what the hell they are doing, rather than reading from a script and having sorry asses like me (and, believe it or not, people even more computer illiterate than I) running in circles and needlessly screwing around with their operating systems, fer Chrisssakes.

To Dell:

If you know that your customers will have to report an “alpha-numeric” number in order to have someone speak with them, how about putting the gott-damned thing where it can be seen without pulling the computer out of a dark, wire-filled hole and thereby risking unplugging some of that spaghetti.

If you know that your customers will have to identify the model of the gott-damned computer, please do not put it in teeny letters at the very bottom of the tower. Reading things that are a half-inch from the floor is a bitch with progressive bifocals, Sparky. Try it some time.

Finally, you should know that in about a year I will be ready to purchase a new computer. You had damned well better believe that I will make it my business to find out if a company’s support staff: (a) speaks English, and (b) has any farookin’ idea what they are talking about.

Oh, and one more thing. The offshore phone connection stinks. It is full of static and often cuts out, making the unintelligible Hindiblabber even more difficult to understand, if that is possible.

To Cousins Annie and Gary:
Yes, on reflection, it is clear that I probably caught some of the “Uncle Billy genes,” which is both frightening and flattering, because, as we all know, even with all his foibles, he was one of a kind. Take heed, however, for you are part of the same gene pool, as is Jack (the Kerry thing notwithstanding). I must say that your comments got me to thinking fondly about ol’ Uncle Billy, which in turn prompted me to promise myself to write an Uncle Billy post in the near future. Stay tuned.

My incoming Comcast e-mail cratered again. I called Comcast again, hoping for a repeat of the quick fix I got last night. However, this time I was told that I would have to “re-ad my TCP/IP” (whatever) and that I needed an operating system disc at the ready. I had to locate and sift through all the goddamned discs that came with the computer. Of course, none of the discs that came with this f***ing computer seemed to match the description the Comcast person gave me. She told me to call Dell, get an operating system disc and get back to her when I received it.

So I called Dell. After about a 45 minute wait, I got a gentleman who might have been answering the phone in India, or he might be an Indian man answering from somewhere else — I could not tell. I had to ask him to repeat everything at least three times. Before he would talk to me, he wanted my “alpha-numeric” number on the back of the computer. Getting to the back of the computer tower is no easy task. It is a spaghetti mess, and it is dark.

I said, “Look, I was told that I needed an operating system disc. Can you just send me the disc?” I had to repeat the foregoing about five times. It was as if I never said anything. He simply repeated, “Sir, would you give me the number from the back of your computer.” I located a dying flashlight, tipped the tower so that I could find the f***ing alpha-numeric bar code number on the back of the computer, which I had to read upside down.

I gave him the number. In fact, I gave him the number at least four times, which roughly matched the number of times I had to repeat my name, address and phone number. We did this linguistic back and forth for another hour while I did all the “Settings” and “Network” clicking he told me to do. In the meantime, he described one of the discs I have as being the operating system disc, but he still had me clicking all over the place. He was acting as if he could fix the problem there.

Next came the inevitable request that I re-start the computer. All that turned out to mean was that we could repeat the entire unintelligible and exasperating process from scratch. He obviously thought that he had it wired, as he said, “I’m sending you an e-mail now.” (Actually, he had to say that about four times before I could understand him). I told him that he could send fifty e-mails if he wanted, but I was still getting the same error. In fact, I asked him if he wanted me to try to send myself a goddamned e-mail from AOL. He ignored me and repeated that he was “sending me an e-mail” and that I should have it soon.

He told me that he would call me back in a half hour. It is now forty-five minutes later, the f****ing e-mail still doesn’t work ane he hasn’t called. I have been at this shit for almost four hours.

I’ve got five to one says he doesn’t call.

Did I mention that I f***ing hate computers?

Right about now I hate just about everyfuckingthing.

Yesterday, as I was walking down the stairs to the men’s room, I passed a group of three women who had exited the ladies’ room and who were walking up the stairs. One of the women said to the others, “He didn’t mean it that way. He just said that she looked like an ugly little monkey.”

I must assume that the fellow the woman was referring to was a genuine Nuance Meister.

Oh, now that I’ve mentioned it, does anyone know whether the female drive to pee in groups is some sort of hard-wired genetic thing? You know, like elaborate nest building behavior or swallows returning to Capistrano?

My incoming Comcast e-mail is not working and has not worked since Friday afternoon (outgoing is OK). I was hoping that the problem was Comcast’s, but given the duration of outage, I’m thinking that something may be wrong at this end.

I’m about to call Comcast.

Have mercy on me.

Update: Holy Shitsky (as they say in Russia) …. It took fewer than four minutes to speak with a human, and it took her about three minutes to determine that I had a corrupted e-mail that was causing a massive e-mail traffic jam, sort of like a cyber-stenosis, for you medically minded folks. Once she deleted the turd in the cyber punchbowl, a veritable tsunami of e-mails resulted, including spam, of course.

I suspect that the Satanic Red Triangle sent me the stinker. Curse you Satanic Red Triangle.

I used to be a Marauding Marsupial in the TTLB Blogosphere Ecosystem until I switched over to this spiffy new site (thanks to the patience and generosity of mtpolitics). However, now I am sliding straight down the fall line of the Ecosystem. This is because I have tried a couple times to get the new, spiffy, Movable Type site to take the place of the BlogSpot site in the Ecosystem, but it hasn’t happened yet.

I have plunged through the world of rodents and I am now passing through Flappy Bird-dom. Before long, I will be ranked about at the level of outhouse bacteria.

Note: Do you realize how completely unintelligible the foregoing would be to a non-blogger?

Another Note: Know what? It even sounds pretty stoooopid to me. All my problems should be this small.

I’m jetlegged, tired, the weather is stinkola, and I have something to do today, so maybe I’ll contribute later tonight.

Then again, maybe not. I still feel Californicated.

I am currently accepting applications for a job opportunity.

Title of Position: Designated Ass-Kicker

Job Description: The successful candidate will be responsible for giving me a good, swift kick in the ass if I ever, EVER, again even think about bringing the cursed, evil, laptop with me on another business trip.

Yes, I did bring the rotten machine with me to my recent trip to Cali-farookin-fornia. I know that I had previously sworn never to permit the hateful contraption to leave the office again, but I really, really thought that this time I had things wired.

Prior to leaving, I had spent time with the computer gurus making sure that my dial-up profile was in order. I had my new, super-secret password tucked away in a safe place for the trip. I had even confirmed that the Satanic Red Triangle appeared on my toolbar exactly as it was supposed to.

So, on Monday, I disconnected the infernal device from its “port replicator,” (a seriously suspect name for a device, methinks), and did all the unsnapping, unzipping and Velcro ripping to place it in the carrying case along with the tangle of necessary black wires. I made sure that my idiot cards were readily accessible. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I strutted out the door for my cross-country trip.

I got my first taste of what would be in store when I got on the security line at the airport. The last time I took the evil wizgiz with me on a business trip, I drove to my destination, so airport security was not an issue.

“You have to take the computer out of the case, sir,” commanded the TSA employee. This was followed by the rest of the instructions: “Remove your jacket and lay it flat, remove all metal from your pockets, and remove your shoes.”

So, in addition to trying to remove my jacket, eyeglasses, watch, and the change from my pockets, all while trying to continue to “move the line,” I also had to do all the unsnapping, unzipping, and Velcro ripping to expose the beast for the benefit of the TSA employee and its x-ray machine. All this is, of course, was followed by the frantic grab to reclaim my belongings as they emerged in those gray washtubs on those rollers from the other side of the x-ray machine. Once I collected all my stuff I shuffled, shoeless, to a little table to reassemble myself and re-snap, re-zip and re-Velcro everything necessary to make the hateful machine comfortable again.

I carried it onto the plane and tucked it safely under the seat in front of mine for the duration of the flight. I had briefly considered dragging it out on the plane to do something with it. After all, other people who obviously were friends with their laptops were doing just that. As much as I wanted to be like them, I just didn’t have another round of snapping, zipping and Velcroing in me. Besides, the guy in front of had immediately reclined his seat all the way so that the back of his seat seemed to be about two inches from my nose (I always sit behind that guy). I, therefore, opted to wait for my arrival to the hotel room to unsheathe the Compaq beast.

Upon arriving in San Fran-farookin-cisco, I carted the alien creature along with my real luggage to the Car Rental Center, and carefully loaded it into the rental car for the trip to my ultimate destination.

When I finally arrived at my hotel room, I immediately inspected the desk area to see whether it had all the right stuff. The news was good. Not only did it have the right stuff (outlets, phone jack, etc.), but the stuff was positioned high on the wall, which would save me from crawling up to hook the disgusting contraption up.

I took a cleansing breath or two and got down to business.

I again unsnapped, unzipped and Velcro-ripped my way to the cyber monster and removed it from its nest. I untangled the beast’s black umbilicals and plugged the power umbilical into the wall. Snap. Next came the communication umbilical. Snap.

I had Power!!!!!! Excellent.

I couple whirrs and burps later, I saw, “Enter Your User Name and Password.” I dutifully followed the instructions. Yes!!!! The screen contained all my usual stuff, including the Satanic Red Triangle!!! I began to feel downright giddy about it all.

With the first of my two Idiot Cards at the ready, I worked the mouse over to the Satanic Red Triangle and clicked on it (even though pressing that dumb button on the keyboard does not feel much like a “click” to me). Another screen opened, which said, “Enter your Entrust User Name and Password.” I entered my Entrust user name and my newly assigned Entrust password – a dizzying display of upper and lower case letters, mixed in with numbers and other things. I clicked OK.

This was the “make or break” moment.

I watched the little hourglass as it remained on the screen for too long – much too long. I began to sweat. “This can’t be happening again.”

The defiant hourglass finally was replaced by, “Unable to connect… Blah, blah, blah….” I don’t remember the exact words, as I was devastated by my failure and blinded by my fury.

I threw cold water in my face, waited a few minutes and then repeated the entire process. Again, the disgusting, loathsome creature responded, “Unable to connect… Blah, blah, blah.”

It doesn’t matter what the message said, because what it MEANT was:

YOU PATHETIC SORRY ASS. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO THINK THAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF DEFEATING ME. IF I HAD SALIVARY GLANDS, I WOULD SPIT IN YOUR EYE.GOOD DAY, CHUMP.

On Monday, I’m going to see if I can have the evil monster welded to its gott-damned port replicator.

Failing that, I will definitely be hiring someone on as my Designated Ass Kicker.

I will be away on a business trip (to that other coast) for the next three days. Doing my part to prove beyond any doubt that learning does not take place, I will again be bringing the cursed laptop with me. Some of you may remember how well I did with the laptop the last time I took it on a trip, when I had hoped to do a bit of the remote blogging like some of the fancy schmancy bloggers do. If it works out the same way this time, you will not hear anything from Jimbo, the techno-doofus, until my return (this time with the infernal machine in pieces, I swear).

Then again, hope springs eternal.

Now hear this.

Rodger, the Skeptical Curmudgeon, has a fresh supply of bandwidth and is back at his regular site.