• I’ve been outsmarted by educational stupidity.

    This has been sitting over here since October, because I just, honest to goodness, could not find an appropriate way to mock the hell out of it. Even now, I’m having trouble stringing together a post that adequately describes the level of stupid that pours out of this article. This hot little mess has managed, I have no idea how, to overpower my ability for mockery. And all it took was a school teacher, an iTunes account and a topless photo of–I’m going to guess–herself to do it.

    Because in 2012-2013 all the cool kids are doing it, a school in Anderson Indiana has taken to issuing iPads for staff and, presumedly, student use. At some point, this particular school teacher came into possession of–or, more than likely, was involved in the creation of–a neck-down photo minus a shirt. I’m guessing the photo was of this teacher, but the article isn’t altogether clear on that part. This teacher, at some point after that photo came into existence, had the school iPad at home for whatever reason. When it came back to the school, that photo was on it. And when some of her students, who presumedly had entirely legal and not quite so pornographic/sexual reasons for making use of the iPad, came across this photo, they were suspended.

    And the common sense part of my brain just caught fire. I get 0 tolerence. I don’t think 0 tolerence is overly helpful, but I get the idea behind it. And I get the idea behind a school taking a position this one did on illegal or at least otherwise questionable images in the hands of kids. But, see, here’s the thing. The kids didn’t exactly go out and capture this image themselves–either from the wider internet or snapping the shot directly. That much was already easily established. And yet, rather than firing the teacher who stuck the image on a school issued iPad, they suspended the students who found it. And in so doing, very quickly proved a match for my ability to properly lable the stupid.

    It’s entirely possible the teacher didn’t know what she was doing, or maybe didn’t quite grasp the notion that when she hooked a school issued iPad up to her computer, with her iTunes account and other such info on that computer, she would more than likely be syncing everything she’d normally have on her own iThing to the school’s iPad. That wouldn’t be a far stretch to make–Apple’s rules for what will and won’t sync depending are more than a little convoluted at times. But if anyone should be nailed for it under a 0 tolerence policy, you’d think–be it intentional or not–the teacher would be the one to buy it. But then, this is probably why you don’t work for this particular school. At least we can hope the teacher will be just a tad bit more careful next time. Or, in Andersonspeak, maybe now those kids’ll know better than to go looking at random pictures on a school iPad. Yeah, that doesn’t work for me either.

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  • In which earth hour shows up, and no one here notices.

    So according to the small explosion that took out my Twitter, earth hour was last night. 8:30 PM EST, the rumour says. Funny thing about it? I didn’t actually notice. Which, probably, is an improvement over before–when, rather intentionally, I noticed and explicitly cancelled it. This year, though, it completely and totally passed me by until I bothered looking at Twitter and the resulting explosion. Here’s the thing, though. Even while not noticing, I still managed to follow some of their rules. Dammit.

    • Lights off? Yep–blind, so they wouldn’t do me a whole lotta good anyway.
    • TV off? Let’s see. It was a spring training Saturday, baseball was in the afternoon and very likely online anyway, and I’m still swearing off hockey for this year–so that’s an enthusiastic yes. Nothing really all that entertaining on otherwise so why spend the money on electricity for a thing I’m not watching?
    • … And that’ll be about where it stops.

    For the record, here’s what I never do, and will never do, during earth hour.

    • Heat off? It was hovering around the freezing point by the time earth hour apparently came around to say hello. I didn’t feel like a sweater. I’ll just be keeping the heat on, thanks much.
    • Computers off? Sorry, no. I’ve still gotta get things done, even if it’s environmental preservation hour. Sorry. Besides–it’s only an hour. I’d of just killed the environment in some other way instead–like going for coffee. Or busing back to the old building to drop in on some friends–oh, wait. Nevermind.
    • Delay using the oven, etc? Well, yes–but we had leftovers from a few days ago. So I was doing that anyway. Unfortunately, I probably lost points for using the microwave instead of the oven, but you’ll have that.
    • Put off driving somewhere? Well, okay. Sure. We bused instead. Which… Well… Okay… Does about the same environmental damage on average as if they’d actually let me drive. So, er, scratch that one.

    So. That’s how I up and didn’t exactly toe the line, and did so without even really noticing I was supposed to. Did the 2% of you or so who did something else enjoy it? I did. And I wasn’t even trying.

  • In which every bad tech support call I’ve ever taken comes back to haunt me. Twice.

    Because I still don’t feel like substance, even if it would appear the things what I was figuring on getting done today aren’t actually going to get done, have a one of these. You can take some comfort in the fact most of the things on that list I can safely say even in my unpaid work as the family geek I’ve never heard. However, my favourite–where favourite equals if I hear it one more time I’m going to break a nearly half finished bottle of vodka over somebody’s head–is one I can safely say I hear way, way too much. It’s also the last one on the list–go figure.

    Tech Support: “All right. Now click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “Click ‘OK’?”

    Tech Support: “Yes, click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “Click ‘OK’?”

    Tech Support: “That’s right. Click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “So I click ‘OK’, right?”

    Tech Support: “Right. Click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “I clicked ‘Cancel’.”

    Tech Support: “YOU CLICKED ‘CANCEL’?!”

    Customer: “That’s what I was supposed to do, right?”

    Tech Support: “No, you were supposed to click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “I thought you said to click ‘Cancel’.”

    Tech Support: “NO. I said to click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “Oh.”

    Tech Support: “Now we have to start over.”

    Customer: “Why?”

    Tech Support: “Because you clicked ‘Cancel’.”

    Customer: “Wasn’t I supposed to click ‘Cancel’?”

    Tech Support: “No. Forget that. Let’s start from the top.”

    Customer: “Okay.”

    (15 minutes later)

    Tech Support: “All right. Now, are you ready to click ‘OK’?”

    Customer: “Yes.”

    Tech Support: “Great. Now click ‘OK’.”

    Customer: “I clicked ‘Cancel’.”

    And this, right here, is pretty much every tech support call gone wrong in my entire professional and unproffessional career. Except with a few dozen choice explitives under the relative protection of the mute button, copious amounts of coffee, and rather liberal consumption of the afore mentioned vodka upon a return to the apartment and relative safety from, uh, other people. It still got me paid, and in still getting me paid I had a hell of a time finding the ability to care, but reading this now, I find myself amazed I didn’t actually do something regretable–like be completely honest while the offending annoyance was still on the phone. I do have *some* class, on occasion. It’s just not all that frequent an occasion.

    That type of call is only topped by a thing I can safely say I’ve only ever, as in ever, received a grand total of once. I was working nights, which is what I spent most of my time working at Dell doing, and I get a call from a customer in Texas. Sweetest person you’re ever gonna talk to, and I can tell she meant well. She just… Well. There’s no polite way to describe it–she could really have used an education in basic common sense before being allowed within 50 feet of a computer. Or at least a basic education in how technology worked. Things like no, ma’am, your computer is not linked to the hive mind.

    Tech Support: “How can I help you?”

    Customer: “I just wanted to know. Uh, are your computers down?”

    Tech Support: “Uh. N.n.n.no. Why would we be down?”

    Customer: “Oh, I don’t know. But my system hasn’t come on all day and I was wondering if yall were having problems.”

    Tech Support: “Sounds like you might have a pretty major one. You’ve tried turning it on?”

    Customer: “Oh, yeah–tried every so often. It just doesn’t do anything but sit there. I hit the button you’re supposed to hit and nothing.”

    Tech Support: *about to become an all too well documented statistic* “Do me a favour, alright? Let’s just make sure no one’s walked by and unplugged you here. Make sure the cable from your tower–the thing you need to turn on before your computer will actually do anything–to the wall is secure at both ends. Just in case. It could be that minor.”

    Customer. “Oh. Now why didn’t I think to check before calling?” *puts down the phone, rummages for a few minutes, comes back* “Everything’s connected. The chord goes from the computer in behind the desk and to the wall. I even unplugged it and plugged it back in just to be sure, but it still won’t turn on. Was that supposed to reset things?”

    Tech Support: *internal, dramatic sigh of relief* “No. But, you did confirm what I suspected. You’ve got a thing here.”

    Because the internet of things can come crashing down and take the world of innocent bystander systems with it. Or something. I never quite got my head around exactly how A fit into B, as in at all. I probably should have had her explain that to me a little better, but I was sort of occupied with replacing her power supply and motherboard–and trying to find creative ways to tell her what I was doing without opening myself up to the inevitable questions about that being how Dell monitors things to make sure all the appropriate updates are installed and to make sure no one goes and does nasty things with the internets–or something. I honestly have no idea. I kind of stopped listening to that side of the conversation after she figured I was the guy that fixed all the things so she could get her email, or something. No, ma’am, I promise–I’m just the Dell guy. The Dell guy that happens to be holding your motherboard and power supply hostage until you stop playing 50 questions long enough for me to get info from you, and hand you same, but still just the Dell guy. At least she didn’t make me glad for vodka. Just coffee. Lots, and lots, of coffee. And I’m pretty sure I took my lunch break early that day…

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  • Best. Google. Search. Ever.

    I wasn’t originally supposed to be home right now, so planned a relatively fluff day. Sorry if you were hoping for part 3 of the Paramount disaster–but it’ll show up. And probably so will part 4. But as for right now, the fluff. It’s everywhere. And drowning in awesome. Especially if you’re at all into the whole science fiction thing. Why for? Well. Uh. Ahem.

    Nov 5 8:23pm: Technology: You promised me Mars Colonies. Instead, I got Facebook. W.T.F.

    If that isn’t at least close to the best ever google, as in ever, then I have no bloody idea what is. I mean, come on. Has no one seen the Jetsons? We’re late. It’s all that time spent on Facebook, I tells ya. And they say social media doesn’t hold society back. By the way–if anyone needs me, I’ll be somewhere in the vicinity of Twitter.

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  • Friends don’t let friends rent from Paramount Properties, part 2: this is not the apartment you’re looking for.

    This is the second in a series of posts on why Paramount Properties in general, and Greenbank towers in particular, is bad for you. If you’re contemplating a move to Ottawa, or moving from somewhere within Ottawa, this company should be avoided at all costs. For more information, beyond what will be in these entries, just ask.

    Moving into a new place is hardly ever fun. there’s the making sure you didn’t leave anything behind in the old place–I’ve done that about half a dozen times already, the making sure you’re not having to chase half your services all over the countryside and then some, the criss-crossing–and, subsequently, the uncrossing–of just about every scheduling wire known to exist, and all this before the first week of your move is over with. The last thing most people want to be adding to their laundry list of moving related foolery is the nailing down of your property manager so you can therefore nail down an equally lengthy list of problems with the new place that need to be addressed–especially when most of it was supposed to have been addressed, or scheduled to be addressed, already. That was us, at around the beginning of October.

    the fun actually started before the official moving day, although most of that fun was–surprisingly–out of the property manager’s hands. Before we could move in to the new place, the guy what lived there needed to get his crap and get out. Problem: he had no bloody idea when he’d be doing exactly that. He’d give the manager one date, then change his mind a day or two later. So actually finalizing things was a bit of an exercise in migraine. Still, we knew there’d be problems with the apartment–mostly because we were warned the guy what lived there before us had absolutely no problem whatsoever with not, you know, looking after the place.

    When we went in to see the place, to say it was a bit of a war zone was putting it nicely. The door to our storage room was off its frame, and leaning against the wall inside the storage room. Several–meaning most–of the light switches were missing outright their fixtures. there was a hole in the wall of one of the bedrooms. Closet doors were damaged. The screen to our patio was off. The place needed desperately to be painted (that part they told us before we moved in). The list goes on. We were told, before we even moved in, that either before we moved in or shortly after, the property manager would get someone in there to fix things up. Promised, even, that yes, manager lady knew it’d be a wicked hot mess, and it’d be taken care of pronto. It’s why we had no problem signing paperwork, and making arangements so that when, finally, the place was actually vacated, we could move our crap in.

    Due to the nature of how things ended up happening, we didn’t get moved in until the day before someone else was scheduled to move in to the old place. So naturally, they didn’t have a whole heaping helping of time to go on a fixy fixy binge before we got our hands on the place. Not helped by anything was the fact when the guy what used to live there took off, he took the keys for the place with him–so priority numero uno became let’s make it so we can actually, you know, lock the place when we leave. That part, at least, we didn’t need to go chasing a fix for–swap out the locks, bring the lock from the old apartment down to the new one, replace the lock on the old unit, bing bam boom have a lock see ya later. It was the rest of it that we got to go fishing for.

    The day after we moved everything in, I went to the rental office myself. Here’s the laundry list, in its finalized form. You said it was bad, you were right–this is how bad. They’d get someone in this week, manager lady told me. As soon as humanly possible, but we’ve had a lot of moves, she said, so you might need to wait a bit. We waited a bit. The week, if we’re being honest. No one came knocking. we still had a hole in the wall. We still had no storage room door. Oh–and we found a couple more surprises to add to the list, which was done when I went to ask manager lady why that list hadn’t been touched yet. I got much the same, complete with an I’m sorry I thought it was done already, and she’d have it taken care of this week, as soon as possible but definitely this week. Not holding my breath, and the thought starting to nibble at the outer edge of my mind that we’re kind of pushing the boundaries of legal territory (keep in mind, by this time we’d started speaking with a lawyer due to the last episode), we were prepared to have this drag out until we found somewhere else to move to–we’d started looking pretty much by this point as well, largely as a result of part 1. The money we paid into that place, and it looked almost like someone decided to throw a going away party, then went away before the cleanup crew got there to bill them.

    A second week went by. No repair person. No phone call about a repair person. Supposedly the repair person was telling folks he’d been by, but the state of the apartment said no he damn well hadn’t. This time, manager lady was prodded in writing. We got the same general response back. Now, this *was* getting into legal territory. Legally, the landlord has about 2 weeks to address any concerns or issues with the apartment after a move. They were pushing three. And in writing, that was pointed out to them. Once again, repair person would be by this week, as soon as possible. No, that wasn’t going to work. Not unless there was going to be issues upon issues. Repair person was going to be by no later than the next day, or holy hell would there be issues upon issues.

    Repair person indeed *was* by the next day. And, much to my shock and amazement, most of what was there actually did get fixed. Somewhat. We had a door to the storage room again. We had working closets. He had to replace the screen for the patio–but we had a screen for the patio. We still had a hole in the wall, but he did come back later on to fix that. Oh, and proper light switches for a change. Well, mostly. He ended up not fixing a few of them, as we’d find out later on, but by then we’d just given up on the whole idea. The place still hadn’t been repainted, which was the one thing they wanted to do shortly after we moved in–because, they told us, this is what they do with all their units in between tennants and if they had the time, it would be done already. And there were still a few things on that list that just generally went untouched, but again, we’d given up with chasing them for it. We were done with this hot mess, whether it was done with us or not. As it turns out, that was probably the smartest move we’d made since this entire soap opera started–we’d see proof of that shortly after we’d moved everything out of that unit.

    Paramount Properties, and Greenbank Towers, talked up a good game. But where it came time to translate that into actually getting things done, they passed the buck, dragged their feet, and generally just put off what, at the end of the day, we were paying them for. If they even had documentation that said we were in there to have these things addressed, almost no one read it–confirmation came again after we moved everything out, and will be explored in another entry. They’ll tell you what you’re hoping to hear, show you a sample of the things you’re looking for. But after you sign the papers and everything’s settled, Paramount Properties is not the apartment you’re looking for. In a future entry, Paramount finally starts to show us what they’re all about, for real–and we get the feeling we’re not *really* as welcome as they tell you you are. But as for now, two very good reasons to maybe bump Paramount Properties down a knotch or 5 on your list of possible living arangements. You can, and should, do much better. I’ll even give suggestions, if asked. No one running a business this shot deserves your, or anyone else’s, money. Not even sweet-talking ones.

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  • Friends don’t let friends rent from Paramount Properties, part 1: The Rent Kerfuffle.

    This is the first in a series of posts on why Paramount Properties in general, and Greenbank towers in particular, is bad for you. If you’re contemplating a move to Ottawa, or moving from somewhere within Ottawa, this company should be avoided at all costs. For more information, beyond what will be in these entries, just ask.

    I’ve been around the block a time or three when it comes to apartment shopping in Ottawa. Almost always, the top 5 includes at least one building from Paramount Properties. Everything about them from the outside looking in sets off at least a dozen awesome alarms. The places are usually fairly decent, the staff will usually let you play 20 questions, it’s kind of like you’re dropping in to say hello to a friend. Then you go and move in.

    Due to situations with the former roommate, I had to go on a hunt for an apartment in July of last year. Due to some very interesting cock-ups by that self-same former roommate after becoming my former roommate, there suddenly became an opening. It was sharing an apartment in Greenbank towers, a property owned and maintained by Paramount. I moved over there, with May, at the end of August. We’d already made arangements to move at the end of September into a larger apartment (she had a one-bedroom at the time), and the folks over there seemed perfectly fine to go about the idea. About a week after I moved in, things got nifty.

    Paramount Properties allows you, like most places do, to set up preauthorised debit for your rent–the better not to have to chase down your landlord with your hand out and beg them to find 2 minutes to take your money, my dear. For 3 months, that system worked as designed. From June, right through August (remember, May had this place before I moved over), there be no problem. Come time for September, there be problems. Rent is due on the first, and usually comes out by then. It being we were dealing with a weekend and labour day and the like, we expected to maybe see it come out a little later. So by about September 6, it still hadn’t come out. We go tap on the property manager–the second one in a year, but I’ll get to that in another entry. “Hey, manager lady? Take your rent, please.” “We’ll take it,” she tells us. “Holiday and whatnot. It’ll come out, promise.”

    We give it until around the 10th or 11th. Tap tap tap. “Hey, manager lady? You still haven’t taken our rent.” “It’ll come out. Give it a bit.” “Look. We have it. It’s like right here. Paying you will take 45 seconds. Then it’s done.” “We’ll take it out. Just what with the holiday and all. Give it a bit longer.”

    It’s the 15th of September, by this point. Legally, we’re now officially late with the rent. Not a good place to be, if you’re us and in the middle of a lease and not planning on packing up and moving right the bloody hell now and three quarters. We’re getting a little bit twitchy. We go back to the rental office. “Okay. Look. It’s been two weeks. We’re staring at the prospect of being branded late. Take. Our. Goddamn. Rent.” “Yall have automatic debit. It’ll happen. Put your bank card away–we’ll take it. I’m on the phone with the guys what handle that today.”

    By this time, we have school things starting up, so our time, energy and money is about to be diverted to much more fun and interesting prospects. Of course, by this time, tuition money hasn’t come in just yet, so part of that diverting is to invent varying degrees of financial creativity so as not to end up needing to slap a deferral on top of everything else education. We gave up trying to prod the landlord at this point. They’d either take it, or they wouldn’t. And if they didn’t, it would become part of the diversion–they’d just have to wait their bloody turn, now. We had things to do, and just ran out of time to sit on a property manager. So we up and went about our business for the rest of the month. No word from Paramount. We paid what needed paying at the beginning of October. We paid the rent on the new place in the beginning of October–I’ll get to the issues with the new place in yet another entry. We didn’t set the new place up for automatic debit, given the issues we ran into in September–which hadn’t yet been resolved by then, so to avoid a double payment coming back to bite us later, just no thank you please. That was done. No mention of the rent for September, which we still didn’t see come out. We weren’t bringing it up again, and neither did they. So the rent money went temporarily to tuition.

    First two weeks of October, we didn’t hear a word. We were getting things sorted out for school, and getting ready to head out of town for the Thanksgiving weekend. Chasing a landlord who we’d previously offered to pay was not exactly up there on our priority list. So we did what we did and would circle around to that hot mess later. Except they circled around to us first. And, on the 15th of October, they started making noises about rent we hadn’t paid. Not rent we’d offered to pay and they’d asked us to wait on–but rent we hadn’t paid. The back and forth went on over the phone initially, with Paramount deciding on the 15th that yes, we owed rent, and yes, we’d pay at least half of it right then and there. Being not made of money, being that the month was half over, and being that we had school to pay for, oh–and being that we’d already made several attempts to pay them, we didn’t have that money handy right then and there (see: schooling, paying for). And this is around when we learned our property manager had amnesia.

    The conversation started out innocent enough. Just calling to let you know we don’t have your rent for September, all that lovely stuff. We asked what happened to Paramount taking it out of the account. They tried and couldn’t, says manager lady. Maybe we should get hold of our bank, just in case something went sideways on their end. Hey–it’s happened before, so I was willing to give Paramount the benefit of doubt. That, was a mistake. In the span of about 10 minutes, we learned 3 things. Thing the first: your bank logs *everything* under the sun–whether it’s a successful something under the sun or not, so if John Q. cheapy says he up and tried charging your face off, and he did actually up and try charging your face off, the bank can usually tell you he tried–and why he didn’t succeed. Thing the second: The folks over at Paramount aren’t very good liars–they didn’t do a damn thing, and it showed after the afore mentioned 10 minutes (to cover our asses, we called a second time with pretty identical results). Thing the third: It’s been an aweful goddamn long time since I’ve had to, but I can still call someone out left and right if and when I need to–especially if you’re gonna decide today’s an awesome day to screw with me.

    So it’s back to Paramount we went. Hey, lady? Yeah. About that problem at the bank. Feed me another one. Then, it got interesting. She still insisted there was a problem taking rent out in September. I should probably point out none of the info changed since August–when they were perfectly capable of making money disappear. She still insisted that we pay at least half of it right then and there (see also: money, not made of), and wasn’t entirely all too excited about the prospect of backing down from that–or being told that she’d get rent money whenever we get tuition, since the former had to go to cover the latter and, since they weren’t altogether too concerned with taking the former when it was due, they could damn well wait now. But the really fun part’s what happened next. Like it was a thing she practiced in the mirror that morning, and completely with a straight face, she said we should have made alternate arangements to have rent paid in September. Now, I’m gonna let you stop right here and go read a couple paragraphs up. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

    May and I both thought she might have been smoking something. We both explained to her, more than once, that we tried paying the thing directly–in bloody september. And, taking care that our poor manager may be suffering the early onset of amnesia or something, we reminded her that we approached her in september on a few occasions to pay the thing manually. We reminded her that she up and said no. repeatedly. We reminded her we persisted. And, we reminded her she still said no. She was highly uninterested in hearing any of it–going so far as to say we knew this needed to be paid, and this was our responsibility. Uh. Yeah? Whatcha think we were trying to do, here, chicken little? We certainly tried not to keep our money.

    It got to the point where property manager wanted a sitdown with myself, May, her, and her manager. Both she and her manager were still under the mistaken impression they’d be getting money from us. Since now we were over a month late, and we weren’t overly large fans of what we were apparently heading into, before we did anything else we decided to go legal. Not full on legal, per say. But lawyers were contacted, advice was saught, and decisions were made. We put everything in writing, in an email to the folks at Paramount–specificly, to the property manager with a copy sent to her manager. We explained this is what we were told, this is what we responded with. We were told to wait, we offered to pay it manually, and we were still told to wait. Repeatedly. And it was explained to them that, on the advice of a lawyer, we wouldn’t be attending that there sitdown meet and greet. Oh, and by the way, you’d still be getting your rent money as soon as tuition funds come in and not a minute sooner, but thanks for trying.

    They backed down almost immediately after getting that email–only mentioning the outstanding rent once, at the beginning of November, and being pointed right back to the email we sent them (see also: amnesia, suspected). And, when tuition funds came in later on in November, we gladly went back down to the rental office, and this time, manually paid the damn rent. But by then, they’d cluster fucked the situation so badly that we weren’t entirely sure they wouldn’t pull something similar in 6 months. Any trust, any professional level of respect, that might have been there beforehand was shot. They got crooked, and when they were called on it, they got greedy. And when they were called on that, they doubled down–there was no room whatsoever for the possibility they screwed this one. They flopped, then tried pinning the blame for the flop on us.

    That wasn’t all that lead to us deciding not only to never rent from this company again, but to make as many people aware of this company’s business practices as humanly possible. But, it was a mighty fine start. And by the time anything else happened, we’d already decided we weren’t sticking around there any longer than we had to. In the next, hopefully not quite as lengthy entry, another significant contributing factor. How to ruin a professional relationship in 30 days–by not actually dooing your job.

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  • Popular posts (February, 2013).

    In which, shockingly enough, I manage to do this thing before March is a week old. Is there hope for me? Yeah, don’t count on it. Worth a shot, though. Oh–and I manage to do it in around all manner of technological breakage. Which, of course, just means next time the breakage’ll try a little harder. While I’ve been breaking things, though, folks have been doing the getting busy with the finding trivialities. It’s lead to some repeat performances–and one or two things I didn’t expect, which may or may not be slightly worrying if you’re the type that should be blogging this stuff. I’ll mention those a little later on. As for now, the good stuff. Shush–it’s good, dammit.

    For the month of February, 1056 of you wasted 1 minute and 25 seconds trying to find something vaguely useful to salvage from this mess. I’d play the optimistic card and say something about how you might have found something if you’d just have stuck around here a little bit longer, but come on. If I had anything that major to say, folks’d pay me for it. But you found something, anyway. Here’s what most of you were interested in for the month, as always, courtesy Google Analytics.

    • In January, I was introduced to an interesting twist on the whole New World Order conspiracy theory idea. I think it was trying to abide by Canadian content laws or something, as it pretty much outlined exactly how, where and why the government of Ontario, through it’s Ontario Disability Support Program (ODSP), was out to hang us all. Or maybe just starve us all. Whichever. I mocked it, and nearly two months later it’s still attracting attention. Government attention, no doubt. Is anyone offering witness protection?
    • I call Bell Canada the Microsoft of the ISP universe. If there’s a standard in existence, they blow right past it at high speed. Usually going the other way. In December, they pushed an update to their connection hub modem that blew right past basic networking standards. Again, in the opposite direction. Since December, it’s made the most popular list every month so far–and attracted a handful of comments in the process. And Bell still hasn’t acknowledged they busted their modem. Hey–that also sounds extremely familiar.
    • I barely use Windows Live Messenger these days. Actually over the last few years my usage has pretty much tapered off to around 0, with a few noteable exceptions. Apparently I’m not the only one, as Microsoft has decided this year is a good year for it to die. I warned you that I’d be doing away with it shortly-ish. Admitedly I haven’t gotten to it yet, but largely it’s because I keep forgetting I have the thing. I suppose if it were more annoying I’d remember–but, you know. Eventually, Microsoft will make that decision for me. But maybe hell will freeze and I’ll do something about it before then (*).
    • Daniel Alfredson, as the divine one. It just doesn’t
      feel–well–natural. And yet, Siri says so–and Siri’s never wrong, right? I mean–there was that one time, with that one Nokia phone, but come on. Every electronic personal assistant makes mistakes. Although, it does explain the, uh, lack of playoff appearances since about 2004 from a certain team out of toronto. But–er–Alfredson? Really? Not funny, oh holy one.
    • Sticking with the sports theme to round out the list, spring training started a couple weeks ago. I’m more than a little interested. When pitchers and catchers reported to start things off, I wondered if the things I was hearing–from not just the folks what get paid to say the things I was hearing–might just translate into something useful this year. I’m still wondering. I mean, it *is* only spring training. There’s still a metric ton of baseball to be had–and the Jays aren’t exactly famous for coming out from underneath it without being at least somewhat flattened by around August or September. But, if there’s something to what I’ve been hearing, at the very least it could be an interesting ride to get there.

    And that’s February, in a sort of half-baked nutshell. An interesting little sidenote, that may or may not inspire some research when I’ve gotten around to more caffeine. Of the 1056 of you that stopped by to say hi, 214 of you hit my ODSP page directly. You used any number of search terms to get there–which makes me wonder. Should I be keeping my eye out for something to potentially explode? The overly cautious part of me says hell to the yes. The sarcastic part of me says what the hell else am I gonna find to mock. Okay, majority rules. Look for the results of ODSP related digging–just as soon as I dig out some motivation.

    *: No, that does not mean I’ll be using Skype full-time. Or even part-time. I despise Skype with the passionist of passions. If I have literally no other choice, then grudgingly, I’ll fight with the thing. But for the most part, if there’s an alternative, I’ll use it. And I still have a few alternatives. Anything to get out of a program that loves to take my system with it upon crashing–which it does about every second or third load. No thank you please, it only makes me drunk. Now, then. I think I was digging for caffeine. And trivial things.

  • Silence! I kill you!

    I needed an excuse to post this video, and my reference in another entry to the guy behind it is a damn fine excuse if I do say so myself. Well, that, plus it’s awesome. If you’ve never seen him live, you should. If you’ve never seen him at all, you should be one of the first ones to go click. Oh, and if you *have* seen him live, I incredibly hate you right now. Either way, watch. Just I’d recommend not having anything to drink while doing so.

    If you’re reading this via RSS or email, you’ll want to flick on over to the site. It requires flash, and they’ve yet to devise a thing that does flash in email or RSS reliably. Sorry.

  • Note to windsor: Chihuahuas are only dangerous if you’re prone to migraines.

    I’m probably the exact opposite of a fan of chihuahuas. They’re annoying, they’re yappy, and if you’re not paying absolutely insane amounts of attention you can easily and quite by accident send one spinning across the room. As Jeff Dunham would say, anything I can drop kick over my back fence (Author’s note: hey–I actually have a back fence now!) is not a dog. But I’d hardly classify the things as dangerous. Well, unless you’re already at risk of developing a migraine–good lord but those barks can be lethal on the ears. But apparently, if you live in Windsor, Ontario and own one of these things, and if for whatever reason the thing somehow gets hold of someone (I’m not entirely sure exactly how something that tiny can get a decent hold on someone to begin with), it’s a dangerous dog. And, because it’s a dangerous dog, you’re expected to plaster warning signs on your property and muzzle the thing if it spends even 5 minutes outside–which poses a very interesting question: do they make muzzles in size microscopic?

    The snicker-worthy thing about it is, the person in the article who was bitten (a mail carrier, naturally) wasn’t even aiming to have the thing labled.

    The mail carrier was shocked to hear about the”dangerous dog” designation, according to Postmedia News. She said she is required to reports such incidents to her manager, who then told her to report it to police.

    And presumedly, it was the police what up and decided teeny tiny microscopic thing that is not a dog is lethal. As in, pitbull lethal. Which begs the question: in what universe?

    Like I said, I’m no fan of the things. I’ll never own one. I kind of feel sorry for the folks what do. But to put them on the same level as a dog that has a reputation–deserved or not–for going out of its way to attack and/or kill people and other dogs? Yeah, there’s a problem. That no one with the authority to actually solve that problem has had time yet to get around to the common sense chapter of the handbook that should come with having that authority is, well, not surprising, but a little disturbing. I’d be more worried about the damage either one of our dogs could do to a mail person were they inclined to get that idea in their heads–fortunately neither of them get the opportunity to consider proving me right. And yet these breeds in general, and these dogs in particular, would never be considered for being listed as dangerous–hell, one of them’s a guidedog. But they’ll list a miniature football?

    The mail carrier, for her part, did what any decent person would do–she got herself to the doctor and got hold of some antibiotics, then went about her day. And the owners of the dog more than likely keep an eye out for her now–and keep the dog inside until they know she’s passed. Or maybe that’s just what I’d do, and have done. As for the city of windsor? I’m keeping eyes open for a chihuahua ban. Because–hey, why stop there when you’ve already jumped off the logic train?

  • Did you find what you were after?

    Very occasionally, I’ll pull a random search statistic out of the pile and toss it up here, Usually because at the time there was some degree or several of amusement in its timelyness–or, even, the timing of when I actually manage to find it. Take, well, this one for instance.

    Oct 16 6:50am: how to piss off bell canada

    Well… If you’re me, you put as much effort into downloading as much crap as you can as quickly as you can, then cancel your service–after bouncing off half a dozen managers who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing, and who’s jobs I could likely teach my technologically challenged mother to do and come out with pretty well better results all across the board. As you can probably figure, there’s a Bell rant brewing. Still. That rant is not today. But feel free to find equally creative ways to piss off Bell. They probably deserve it for something or another.

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