Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

Broadbandus Interruptus

I have cable internet service and, except for the unforgivable suspension of service when AT&T severed relations with Excite! @home a couple years ago, the service has been great.  You may recall that incident - the two companies played a game of corporate chicken, with the miraculous result that the only injured were us bystanders.

Anyway, Comcast took over from AT&T a few months ago, and I’ve been waiting for signs of fallout.  A few weeks ago, their signal started dropping out now and then, seemingly at midday.  Since I often work from home and rely on Terminal Server connections to clients, this was more than a nuisance to me, but seemed too infrequent to go through the hassle of calling support.

Finally, on Tuesday, I started losing the signal consistently, so much so that I repaired to Cafe Maree to use their WiFi signal.  I feel a little bit odd sitting in a cafe, debugging Crystal reports and SQL queries, taking phone calls and stepping people through software while others are carrying on vital social exchanges or reading thoughtfully, but, hey!, the cafe needs the business right now, and I need the connection.  So charge me double.

The consistently bad signal spurred me to call Comcast support, and they scheduled an onsite tech for Wednesday afternoon.  I awoke Wednesday morning gratified, in a way, that the signal was still misbehaving.  I headed for Cafe Maree briefly, then to a client’s, then back home in order to be available for the tech.  I walk in, and guess what?  The cable modem lights are on solid, have been all morning, according to my late-rising wife. 

I sit through the early afternoon, hoping for the signal to drop again - sort of like a suicide vigil, yelling “jump! jump! jump!”, or being in the bathroom at the doctor’s office before an examination pleading with your nose to “bleed, dammit!” like it did all day yesterday.  The tech arrived and (surprise) was very brisk and competent but, with no problem to troubleshoot, was reduced to fiddling with a couple things and, I thought, looking not a little askance at me.  I felt like pleading to be believed, since I make my living in technology and tech support, but that probably would have made it worse.

So, whatever voodoo occurred to rectify this problem, it’s on for now.

Broadbandus Interruptus

I have cable internet service and, except for the unforgivable suspension of service when AT&T severed relations with Excite! @home a couple years ago, the service has been great.  You may recall that incident - the two companies played a game of corporate chicken, with the miraculous result that the only injured were us bystanders.

Anyway, Comcast took over from AT&T a few months ago, and I’ve been waiting for signs of fallout.  A few weeks ago, their signal started dropping out now and then, seemingly at midday.  Since I often work from home and rely on Terminal Server connections to clients, this was more than a nuisance to me, but seemed too infrequent to go through the hassle of calling support.

Finally, on Tuesday, I started losing the signal consistently, so much so that I repaired to Cafe Maree to use their WiFi signal.  I feel a little bit odd sitting in a cafe, debugging Crystal reports and SQL queries, taking phone calls and stepping people through software while others are carrying on vital social exchanges or reading thoughtfully, but, hey!, the cafe needs the business right now, and I need the connection.  So charge me double.

The consistently bad signal spurred me to call Comcast support, and they scheduled an onsite tech for Wednesday afternoon.  I awoke Wednesday morning gratified, in a way, that the signal was still misbehaving.  I headed for Cafe Maree briefly, then to a client’s, then back home in order to be available for the tech.  I walk in, and guess what?  The cable modem lights are on solid, have been all morning, according to my late-rising wife. 

I sit through the early afternoon, hoping for the signal to drop again - sort of like a suicide vigil, yelling “jump! jump! jump!”, or being in the bathroom at the doctor’s office before an examination pleading with your nose to “bleed, dammit!” like it did all day yesterday.  The tech arrived and (surprise) was very brisk and competent but, with no problem to troubleshoot, was reduced to fiddling with a couple things and, I thought, looking not a little askance at me.  I felt like pleading to be believed, since I make my living in technology and tech support, but that probably would have made it worse.

So, whatever voodoo occurred to rectify this problem, it’s on for now.

Chicago
I mentioned below that I would post from Chicago a week ago, but, like most of the promises I make, this one will be kept, perhaps even exceeding expectations, but be delivered so late no one will care.
The occasion for being in Chicago was a first-time face to face meeting of several members of an online book club we’re in. We’ve corresponded for over a year, so everyone was pretty comfortable, although my wife was a little wary because most of the other attendees were women. So sweet of her to be jealous - I don’t think she was faking.
The ostensible gathering point was the Printers Row Book Fair, featuring booksellers’ booths and lectures. The weather on Saturday was just about perfect. We sniffed a bit at the booths, then went gallivanting all over downtown Chicago. We visited the Chicago Art Institute, Navy Pier, walked along the shore through Lincoln Park and up into the Gold Coast north of town, a mix of high-rise condos and jaw-droppingly charming brownstone houses. The image of Chicago that comes to mind, especially to a Northwesterner, is of a big, dirty, inhospitable city. However, they have made a great effort to make downtown pedestrian-friendly, and on a nice day it’s a pleasure. (I’ve also been there for an Easter sleet storm that coated my car with 4 inches of ice).
Just to earn our chops as a book club, several of us attended a reading by Margaret Atwood - she’s on tour flogging her new book Oryx and Crake. She’s a witty and, in her contemplative way, passionate about issues facing humanity.
Folks pretty much adhered to their online personas, oddly enough (don’t know how they viewed US, however). A couple of the women were into this over-50 Red Hat Ladies thing, a sort of sweet bravado against the inevitable, I guess. Also made it easy to find them when they wandered. (At 52, my wife is in denial, and indignantly dumps all the AARP mail into my pile, so she was defiantly bareheaded and unmoved by their entreaties to join in. She’ll be rock climbing in the Tetons next month with 20-somethings, so I’ll allow her the affectation.)

Chicago
I mentioned below that I would post from Chicago a week ago, but, like most of the promises I make, this one will be kept, perhaps even exceeding expectations, but be delivered so late no one will care.
The occasion for being in Chicago was a first-time face to face meeting of several members of an online book club we’re in. We’ve corresponded for over a year, so everyone was pretty comfortable, although my wife was a little wary because most of the other attendees were women. So sweet of her to be jealous - I don’t think she was faking.
The ostensible gathering point was the Printers Row Book Fair, featuring booksellers’ booths and lectures. The weather on Saturday was just about perfect. We sniffed a bit at the booths, then went gallivanting all over downtown Chicago. We visited the Chicago Art Institute, Navy Pier, walked along the shore through Lincoln Park and up into the Gold Coast north of town, a mix of high-rise condos and jaw-droppingly charming brownstone houses. The image of Chicago that comes to mind, especially to a Northwesterner, is of a big, dirty, inhospitable city. However, they have made a great effort to make downtown pedestrian-friendly, and on a nice day it’s a pleasure. (I’ve also been there for an Easter sleet storm that coated my car with 4 inches of ice).
Just to earn our chops as a book club, several of us attended a reading by Margaret Atwood - she’s on tour flogging her new book Oryx and Crake. She’s a witty and, in her contemplative way, passionate about issues facing humanity.
Folks pretty much adhered to their online personas, oddly enough (don’t know how they viewed US, however). A couple of the women were into this over-50 Red Hat Ladies thing, a sort of sweet bravado against the inevitable, I guess. Also made it easy to find them when they wandered. (At 52, my wife is in denial, and indignantly dumps all the AARP mail into my pile, so she was defiantly bareheaded and unmoved by their entreaties to join in. She’ll be rock climbing in the Tetons next month with 20-somethings, so I’ll allow her the affectation.)

My First Prosthesis

About a year ago, I had a molar develop a crack in a root, leading to it’s extraction.  The extraction went swimmingly, owing to the generous prescription of Percosets, of which I retain more than a few as a palliative against the apocalypse.  The pain attached to the event derived from the fact that the tooth sported a gold crown that cost me about $1,000 in 1985 dollars, which crown I foolishly left at the oral surgeon’s in my haste to get home and imbibe my Percosets.

Anyway, today I had an appointment with a Doctor of Maxillofuckyerfaceup in order to explore the beneficence of an implant.  My options are to have a “bridge” made, which involves blasting away at the two teeth adjacent to the crater left by last year’s extraction so they can serve as anchors for a three-tooth contraption that they’ll cement in place.  Though this is a marked improvement over my grandparents’ unnerving teeth-in-a-jar freak show from my distant youth, it still involves trashing yet another $1,000 gold crown.

So, the dude today describes a process whereby, for $2,000, he’ll drill a hole in my jawbone and pound in a knurled titanium post.  The fervent hope is that my jawbone will embrace this titanium post like a Republican’s asshole embraces the male member of an energy lobbyist, and in 4 months my regular dentist can bolt yet another $1,000 crown onto this post.

I’m scheduled to receive this wonder of technology on 6/30, after which, fortified by (hopefully) more Percosets, I’m supposed to see the The Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra at Chop Suey in Seattle .  Been a long time since I’ve had to chew a margarita at a music venue, so I don’t anticipate any problems.

My First Prosthesis

About a year ago, I had a molar develop a crack in a root, leading to it’s extraction.  The extraction went swimmingly, owing to the generous prescription of Percosets, of which I retain more than a few as a palliative against the apocalypse.  The pain attached to the event derived from the fact that the tooth sported a gold crown that cost me about $1,000 in 1985 dollars, which crown I foolishly left at the oral surgeon’s in my haste to get home and imbibe my Percosets.

Anyway, today I had an appointment with a Doctor of Maxillofuckyerfaceup in order to explore the beneficence of an implant.  My options are to have a “bridge” made, which involves blasting away at the two teeth adjacent to the crater left by last year’s extraction so they can serve as anchors for a three-tooth contraption that they’ll cement in place.  Though this is a marked improvement over my grandparents’ unnerving teeth-in-a-jar freak show from my distant youth, it still involves trashing yet another $1,000 gold crown.

So, the dude today describes a process whereby, for $2,000, he’ll drill a hole in my jawbone and pound in a knurled titanium post.  The fervent hope is that my jawbone will embrace this titanium post like a Republican’s asshole embraces the male member of an energy lobbyist, and in 4 months my regular dentist can bolt yet another $1,000 crown onto this post.

I’m scheduled to receive this wonder of technology on 6/30, after which, fortified by (hopefully) more Percosets, I’m supposed to see the The Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra at Chop Suey in Seattle .  Been a long time since I’ve had to chew a margarita at a music venue, so I don’t anticipate any problems.

Woodland Park Rose Garden

Woodland Park Rose Garden

“Rio Samba“

“Rio Samba“