The Honeymoon Is Over When I first got my MacBook in the mail, it was love at first sight. After what happened today, I'm thinking about getting my eyesight checked.

I finally got around to installing Bootcamp and Windows XP on my MacBook. I was working on customizing the appearance of Windows, customizing the wallpaper, organizing the desktop icons, changing system sounds and whatnot. A thunderstorm was brewing outside. Whether or not that had anything to do with what happened next is anybody's guess.

The MacBook comes with this thing that Apple calls the "magsafe" power adapter. The "mag" in "magsafe" stands for magnet, which is how the power adapter attaches to the MacBook. The "safe" stands for keeping your MacBook safe from damage. The idea is that, if somebody trips over the power cord, the cord just pops out of the MacBook, instead of sending it crashing to the floor.

As you'll soon see, the magsafe is anything but safe.

So there I am, inside my house during a thunderstorm, messing with XP on the Mac, and out of nowhere, sparks come flying from the magsafe adapter where it's attached to the MacBook. The screen goes black as the sparks ignite into a small flame. I grab the nearest thing I could to smother the flame, which just happened to be my computer mascot, a beanie baby named "Gobbles." Fortunately, Gobbles put out the fire without getting gobbled up by the flames.

I inspect the magsafe power adapter. The flame had melted the shielding on the cord, which you can clearly see in this picture. I determined that the MacBook was still working using its internal battery, but the adapter was shot. They couldn't possibly know what was about to hit them, but a furious Bernie Michaels was about to make his first phone call to Apple support.

After waiting on hold for about ten minutes, I get an Apple support representative on the phone. "Thank you for calling Apple support. My name is Marie. How may I help you?," Marie asks.

"Your stupid MacBook nearly burned down my house!" I yell.

"I'm sorry that you're having trouble with your MacBook, sir. Could you please tell me what you did?" Marie asks.

"What I did?" I retort. "I did nothing! I was just using my MacBook, and flames shot out of the power adapter. If I didn’t happen to be here, my house could have been burned to the ground! My beanie baby's butt is scorched!"

"Your beanie baby, sir?" Marie inquired.

"Never mind!" I say. "The point is that flames burst out of the power adapter and now the power adapter is shot."

"We can overnight a new power adapter to you, sir." Marie says. "I just need to get some information from you." She asks me for the MacBook's serial number, my name and address, and then, she says she needs a few more details so that she can fill out an incident report. She tells me that Apple keeps track of incidents like this for quality control purposes. "At the time of the incident, was the power adapter plugged into a surge protector?"

"Why is it," I ask, "that you keep trying to put the blame on me?"

"Would that be a 'no,' sir?" Marie asks.

"Yes, that would be a 'no,'" I say in the snottiest tone I could muster. "But it shouldn't matter!" I add. "This thing should not be bursting into flames!"

Marie says, "I understand your concern, sir, and I'll be sure to pass this information along to our quality control department."

I couldn't believe she was being so nonchalant about this. I paid a fortune for this little fire hazard, and all that Apple was going to do was send me another one of their "Magburn" power adapters. I expected them to bend over backwards with apologies. I wanted them to kiss my ass!

"We'll get a new power adapter out to you today. You should have it tomorrow," Marie says. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I wasn't quite sure how to put my wish that she kiss my ass into words, so I just said, "No."

"Thank you for calling Apple support, and have a nice day." Marie hung up.

First the sharp edge slashes my wrists, and now this! After getting off the phone, I flipped my MacBook the finger and booted up my neglected Dell. Like an ole reliable dog, it sprang to life, and more importantly, it didn't burst into flames. I don't know about you, but that's one of the things I look for in a computer: the lack of spontaneous combustion.

I'm starting to think that the power adapter isn't the only thing that got burned.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:15 PM 0 comments

Use Protection I found the perfect solution for protecting my wrists from the sharp edges on the MacBook. I picked up a pair of terry cloth wristbands on the way home from work. Not only do they protect my wrists, but I can also use them to wipe the sweat off my brow caused by the heat emanating from this thing.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:53 PM 1 comments

I Must Be Emo I had the day off from work today for Memorial Day. My parents and I did what millions of Americans do to honor those who gave their lives in the name of freedom: we had ourselves a backyard barbeque. I set up the charcoal grill, some folding chairs, and a card table in the backyard. I covered the card table with a table cloth and laid out three place settings.

In past years, my Dad had manned the grill, but now that I am man of the house, my dad suggested that I do the cooking this year. Handing me his old apron, my Dad said, "I hereby pass on to you the apron of the manly man. Wear it as a soldier wears his uniform. Make me proud, son."

Then he and my mom sat down on the folding chairs I had arranged around our makeshift picnic table.

I put on the apron and fired up the grill. While waiting for the charcoal to get hot enough to cook on, I went into the house and brought out a pitcher of iced tea. I filled everybody's glasses and got back to the grill. I noticed my mom and dad doing quite a lot of whispering while I was putting the foil-covered potatos on the grill. I thought they were being a little rude, but I decided not to say anything about it. The potatos were going to take about an hour to cook, so I joined my mom and dad at the table to have some iced tea and chips and dip while we waited.

After an awkward silence, my dad says, "Son, you know, if there's anything troubling you, you can always tell us."

My mom chimes in with, "We care about you and don't want you to do anything to hurt yourself, Bernie."

"What are you two talking about?," I ask.

My dad says, "Your mom and I are not as clueless as you think, Bernie. We keep ourselves informed about what's going on with today's youth."

"We subscribe to Readers Digest," my mother adds.

I have no idea where this conversation is going, but it's starting to make me uncomfortable. "Just get to the point, dad."

"Bernie, your mom and I are concerned that you may be cutting."

"Cutting?," I ask. "Cutting what? I don't even go to school. I have a job, remember?"

"We're not talking about cutting school, Bernie, " my mother says. "We're talking about cutting yourself."

Now I'm really confused. "What are you talking about?" I ask again.

My dad says, "Bernie, put your hands out, palms up." I burst out laughing, this conversation was getting so silly.

I figure, why not? "Sure!," I say, and I hold my hands out.

Pointing to my wrists, my mom says, "I noticed that when you were pouring the iced tea."

I look where she's pointing and notice, for the first time, that my wrists have scratches across them. "What the heck is that?," I ask.

"That's what we'd like you to tell us, Bernie," my dad says.

"Bernie, why can't you just admit that you're a cutter? I know a cry for help when I see it," my mom says. "We can get you help. Just be honest with us"

"Mom, I'm not a cutter. I don't know how those scratches got there. You gotta beleive me."

My dad says, "You're not doing yourself any favors by keeping quiet about this. People cut themselves when they feel sad or upset. They do it as a way to cope with their sadness, but it's not healthy. Now that it's out in the open, you might as well talk to us about it, Bernie. Tell us what's troubling you."

"Nothing's out in the open, dad, and nothing's troubling me," I say. "I'm not a cutter."

"Oh, Bernie," my mother sighs.

We ate our steaks, baked potatos, and grilled vegetables in strained silence. Afterwards, my mom helped out with the dishes, my dad cleaned out the grill, and I put the table and chairs away. Heading back to their trailer, my dad says, "You haven't heard the last from us about the cutting. We're going to get you help."

What did he mean by that?, I wondered. Were they going to have me committed? I wished that I had a good explanation for how those scratches got there. Maybe then, they'd believe me.

I headed back into the house and sat down in front of my MacBook to write this post. As I was typing, I noticed my wrists getting irritated. And then I realized, the sharp edges on this stupid MacBook are slicing my wrists! This damn MacBook is going to get me put in a straight jacket if I can't convince my parents that it is the reason that there are scratches on my wrists.

I headed to the trailer with my MacBook to show them where the scratches were coming from. I made each of them feel the sharp edges, and showed them how I type so that they could see how I was getting scratched. They both ended up laughing with relief.

I was really disappointed that my parents didn't simply believe me to begin with, but I was even more disappointed that this MacBook is scratching my wrists. I'm seriously bummed.

Maybe I should cut myself to deal with the pain.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:15 PM 0 comments

Judgement Day I'm hiding in my bathroom. My roomba acheived self-awareness this morning at approximately 7:14 am. It is just outside my bathroom door. It is trying to kill me. I am unable to send for help. I am out of toilet paper.

The roomba has been banging on my bathroom door for nearly ten minutes. I am beginning to get the impression that it doesn't have the power to break the door down, but I have no way of knowing whether or not it has summoned other robots to join in the attack. I am not taking any chances. I search the bathroom for anything that can be used as a weapon.

I find a plastic bucket under the bathroom sink. I figure that a bucket of water would be a good defense against robots. It worked on The Wicked Witch of the West, and she wasn't even electronic.

I put the bucket in the bathtub, place it under the water spout, and turn the fawcet.

The pipes groan, and yet, nothing comes out.

I try the sink. No water there either.

I set the shower fawcets on full blast, and still, no water.

I step into the shower and stare in disbelief at the showerhead. Had the robots cut off the water supply?

Suddenly, red paint comes gushing out of the showerhead, and I'm drenched in red. As soon as I wipe the red paint from my eyes, the paint gushing from the shower turns orange, and seconds after that, yellow, and after that, green, then blue. I'm standing in the shower getting painted one color after another. The paint covers my nose and fills my mouth. I can't breath. I start to panic.

I am being showered in violet, certain that my next breath will be my last, when I suddenly wake up to find myself in bed. My heart is racing and I'm covered in sweat.

Thank God! It was all just a bad dream! For a while there, I thought I had run out of things to write about and my life had drifted into absurdity just like The Simpsons.

D'oh!
- Bernie  ¶ 3:00 PM 0 comments

My Directoral Debut Here's a video of my roomba in action. I have a webcam that I could have used to take this video, but I thought it might be fun to see if I could use the iSight camera built into my new MacBook instead. I felt pretty silly chasing it around with my MacBook, but I'm happy with the result.

Grab some popcorn, click on the play button, and look at that baby go!



The End?
- Bernie  ¶ 2:16 AM 0 comments

When Coffee Gets Confusing I walked into my local Starbucks with my Macbook tucked away in a bag under my arm. I had never been to a Starbucks before, but I had heard of their caramel macchiatos, and that sounded like something I'd like. I went up to the counter and ordered a medium caramel macchiato. The woman behind the counter said, "Our beverages come in three sizes: tall, grande, and venti," like she said it a thousand times a day.

I said, "I'd like a medium."

She said, "We don't have a medium size, sir. The choices are tall, grande, and venti."

I blinked at her, feeling a little like a racoon caught in the headlights. After a few seconds, I realized that if she wants to play twenty questions, then fine, I'll play.

"What's a 'tall'?" I ask.

"The 'tall' is our small, sir."

"Oh, so you have a small then," I respond.

"No, sir, it's a tall."

"OK, fine," I say. "What's the next size up from tall?"

"That would be the grande, sir."

"Grande means large, doesn't it?" I ask, feeling I'm starting to get somewhere.

"That's correct sir."

"And you don't have a size between tall and grande?," I ask.

"No, sir, we don't."

I could hear people behind me on line starting to grumble. Is it my fault that Starbucks makes things so confusing? No! Let them, grumble, I think to myself. They'll shut their mouths when I whip out my new MacBook.

I eyeballed the menu hanging behind the counter and ask, "What does venti mean?" The grumbling behind me grew louder.

"Venti is Italian for 'twenty,' sir."

"Let me guess, it's twenty ounces," I say.

"Now you're catching on, sir."

But it's larger than the grande?" I ask.

"Yes, sir, that's correct."

"But grande means large!" I say, a little louder than I had intended.

"Yes, sir, but it doesn't mean largest."

"Well neither does venti!" I was really starting to get annoyed now, so annoyed that I decide not to waste my money on anything larger than their smallest size.

"Just give me a small caramel macchiato," I say.

"Would that be a 'tall' caramel macchiato, sir?" I was starting to wonder just how much she enjoys breaking people's balls.

"I don't know, would it?" I ask. "Personally, I think calling it a 'short' would make a little more sense, don't you?" She just stares blankly at me. The grumbling becomes more audible.

"Fine," I say. "I'll have a tall caramel macchiato." I hear a sigh of relief from the crowd behind me.

"Whole milk, skim, or soy, sir?"

"You gotta be kidding me!" I yell.

"Would you like me to get the manager, sir?" she threatens.

"No," I sigh. "That won't be necessary. I'll have a tall caramel macchiato with soy milk and one nutrasweet."

She opens her mouth as if she were about to say something, then closes her mouth again. I realize that I caught her off guard by anticipating that her next question would be about what sweetener to use. I hear some light applause from the crowd behind me. I turn around and take a bow.

It took a while, but I finally figured out how to order a drink from Starbucks. I suddenly feel like one of the initiated. I feel special.

I pay for my caramel macchiato, and ask, "How do I make a wireless connection here?"

"They can help you with that at the information desk, sir."

I take my drink and go to the information desk. Thankfully, this was far less complicated than ordering coffee. In about a minute, I had my login name and password and I head towards an empty table.

This is the moment I had been waiting for, when I take out my MacBook and draw the envious eyes of all the other patrons. I place the MacBook on the table, open it, and boot it up. The MacBook detects the wireless connection with ease, I log in, and I'm online. I nonchalantly take a sip from my caramel macchiato, and look up to see how many people are glaring at me and my MacBook with envy. Much to my surprise, nobody is looking at me. Not only that, but I see several people using MacBooks, MacBook Pros, PowerBooks, and iBooks. I spot a couple of Thinkpads and Vaios as well, but the PC laptops are in the minority. It figures. I guess the kind of place pretentious enough to call their small, medium, and large sizes "tall, grande, and venti" attracts all the Apple-heads.

I felt disappointed, and that special feeling I got when I ordered my drink went up in a puff of smoke. Then I turned to the right, and noticed a man with a white MacBook smiling and looking at my MacBook. He noticed me noticing him noticing my MacBook. "You got the black one, huh?" he smiled.

"Yeah," I smiled back with pride.

"You got ripped off," he said. Then he went back to whatever he was doing on his MacBook.

Grrrrrr. I hate Starbucks.
- Bernie  ¶ 4:30 PM 1 comments

Black is Beautiful When I got home from work, the first thing I did was look at my front door to see if the note I had left for the UPS guy was still there. It was. The note asked the UPS driver to drop off the delivery with my mother in the trailer. I also noticed that there was no new attempted delivery slip on the door. Either the driver had arrived and dropped off my MacBook with my mother, or he had not arrived at all. I went straight to the trailer to check with my mom.

I knocked on the door. After a minute, my mother answered, still looking under the weather from the virus that sent her to the doctor yesterday.

"Your package is there," my mom said, pointing to a box just inside the door. She turned around and headed back to bed.

I grabbed the package and started to leave, then thought I'd better ask, "How are you feeling, mom?"

"A little better," she says. "I'm able to keep my food down now, but I'm still -"

"That's great, mom," I say. "Feel better." I grabbed my package and headed for the house.

Well, I've only had about an hour to play around with my new MacBook so far. It was a snap getting it to work on my wireless network, much easier than setting up my Dell. I admit that I was all set to hate the MacBook, but I'm here to tell you: I am in love.

Oh, sure, it runs a little hot. I can live with that. As for the glossy screen that some people say is so reflective that it makes the screen hard to see, my initial impression is that it is gorgeous. I'm typing this entry on my new MacBook, and I have to say, the colors are sharp and vibrant. I may have more to say about that as I use my MacBook in different lighting environments, but for the moment, I'm blown away.

It's so beautiful, I've been on the verge of tears since my MacBook first booted up. I'm reminded of the scene in the movie, "The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!," where we see a montage of Leslie Nielsen on a date with Priscilla Presley, accompanied by the tune, "I'm Into Something Good," by Herman's Hermits, only the version of the song going through my head right now goes something like this:

Woke up this mornin' feelin' fine
There's somethin' special on my mind
My MacBook has finally arrived, it's in the neighbourhood
Whoa yeah
Somethin' tells me I'm into something good
(Somethin' tells me I'm into somethin')

She's the kind of Mac who's not too shy
And I can tell I'm her kind of guy
She booted up and welcomed me like I hoped she would
(she welcomed me like I hoped she would)
Somethin' tells me I'm into something good
(Somethin' tells me I'm into somethin')

Some people are bashing Apple for charging a $150 premium for their black model. It all comes down to supply and demand. Based on the higher demand of the black iPod nanos from Apple, the company anticipated a higher demand for the black MacBooks and adjusted the price accordingly. You can make fun of me all you want for spending the extra $150, but I say it's just jealousy. If any of you have a problem with that, you can kiss my MacBook's black ass.

I'm sure I'll have more to say about my MacBook in future posts. For now, my MacBook and I have a date with a caramel macchiato at the local Starbucks.

Something tells me I'm into something good.
- Bernie  ¶ 4:57 PM 2 comments

Best-Laid Plans Let me give you all a bit of advice: if you ever want to get a day off from work, don't tell your boss that you need the day off because your mother is sick, unless, of course, she is really sick.

I was able to get the day off from work today by lying to my boss that my mother is sick and that I had to take her to the doctor. I woke up early, looking forward to having the UPS guy deliver my new MacBook. I took a shower, got dressed, and made myself a nice breakfast using the spatula that I got from IKEA, which, I must admit, has grown on me. Then I sat on the couch and watched a little TV.

While watching The View, my phone rang. I picked it up. It was my mother calling from the trailer. My mother said, "Bernie, I need a favor..."

I should have known that she'd pull something like this. I never should have told her I was taking the day off. Now she's going to try to get me to run her on some errands. I would just have to explain to her that I needed to stay home so that I don't miss the UPS guy.

"What favor, mom?" I sigh.

"I need you to take me to the doctor," says my mom.

"What's wrong, mom? Are you sick?" I ask.

And then I heard her violently wretch a belly full of vomit into her toilet.

I say, "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

Unreal! I had lied and said that she was sick, and now she's really sick. I realized that I had to get her to the doctor. There was no doubt about that. The trick was getting her there and back as quickly as possible so that I can still be back home in time to accept delivery of my MacBook from the UPS guy.

I asked her if she had called her doctor. She said she had and was told to come in as soon as she can, and he'd fit her in somehow. I dreaded the idea of going to the doctor without an appointment. I pictured having to wait for hours in the doctor's waiting room before he could fit her in. Suddenly, my mother wasn't the only one sick to her stomach.

Long story short: I took her to the doctor. He was able to see her after having us wait about an hour. He concluded that she had a virus, wrote her a prescription, and told her to get plenty of rest. I dropped off the prescription with our local pharmacist and told my mother that I'd go to pick it up as soon as the UPS guy came. Then I took her home.

You can probably guess what I found when I got home. That's right: a UPS slip stuck to my front door. It said that they would attempt another delivery the following day. Arrggggg!

I'm off to the pharmacists now to pick up her subscription. Maybe I'll get a dose of hemlock for myself while I'm there.

So much for getting to know my MacBook.

What a drag.
- Bernie  ¶ 4:34 PM 0 comments

Getting Ready for a Hot Date Last night I managed to get my old Dell working with my new wireless router. The router looks like a tourist in New York City being robbed at gunpoint, with it's two antennas resembling a pair of arms reaching for the sky.

Today, I asked my manager if I could have the day off tomorrow. I get three personal days a year, but I am supposed to request a day off at least a week in advance, unless it's an emergency.

So, I lied.

I told my manager that my mother is very sick and that I had to take her to see her doctor.

Little does he know that I really want to spend the day getting to know my new MacBook, which is due to arrive tomorrow.

Gee, I hope my manager doesn't read this.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:23 PM 0 comments

Come To Poppa I picked up a Linksys wireless router from Best Buy on my way home from work so I'll be able to share my internet connection with both my Dell and my soon-to-be-here MacBook.

My MacBook has now left Memphis. It is due to arrive at my place on Wednesday. My mom will be here to accept the shipment, but I'm seriously tempted to take the day off from work so I can spend the day with my new MacBook.

I was thinking I could take it for a walk in the park, then maybe go to a Starbucks for a cup of grande caramel macchiato with soy milk, one NutraSweet, and some wireless wonderfulness.

Later on, I thought I'd sprinkle some rose petals on my bed, light a few candles, curl up in bed with my new MacBook and get busy... computing, of course! What did you think I was going to do with it, you perve?

I hope my Dell doesn't get jealous.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:19 PM 0 comments

Skyway Snooze I decided to take a drive into the city yesterday to check out Apple's new flagship store that just opened on 5th Avenue. I thought it would be fun to gawk at all the Apple-heads as they drool over Apple's overpriced products. I also wanted to see the new MacBook with my own eyes, even though I'll be getting one in the mail in a few days.

I was listening to local news radio, paying close attention to the traffic reports, to be sure that I wasn't driving myself into a traffic jam. I was on the Pulaski Skyway, nearing the Holland Tunnel, and all of a sudden, I found myself behind a sea of traffic just past the Broadway exit in Jersey City. I sat there fuming and wondering why 1010 Wins Radio didn't report this jam. After a few minutes, the traffic update came on, and they reported that there were two flipped cars on the Pulaski Skyway, and that traffic was at a standstill. Apparently, it had just happened. What rotten timing!

The flipped cars were too far from me to see, but I could see a lot of flashing lights about a quarter of a mile ahead of me. There were other cars behind me, so I couldn't back up to get off the Broadway exit. I had no choice but to wait until the flipped vehicles were cleared. I turned my car engine off and did my best to relax.

The next thing I know, someone is banging on my car window. I rub my eyes and realize that I had fallen asleep while waiting for the traffic to start moving again. As the fog starts to clear, I hear the traffic reporter on the radio saying, "There is only one lane opened on the Pulaski Skyway on the inbound side just past the Broadway exit in Jersey City due to a motorist who apparently has fallen asleep in his car while waiting for an earlier two-car vehicle accident to be cleared."

Hey! I got mentioned on the radio! How cool is that?!

I finally made it to the Apple Store and waited nearly two hours in line to get into the store. I browsed the store for about thirty minutes. It's quite an impressive layout. I'm more excited about getting my MacBook than ever, so I guess the trip wasn't a total waste.

But I'm still a Windows guy.
- Bernie  ¶ 4:30 PM 1 comments

Yippie! My Mac is on its way
My Mac was shipped today
And when my shipment comes
You can all kiss my buns
I'll be a happy guy
With overheated thighs
Because the MacBook burns
So hot it kills your sperm
But that won't bother me
'Cause I'll be happily
Taking a real close look
Inspecting my MacBook
Looking for every flaw
Reporting all I saw
To Apple fanboys who
Think Windows stinks of pooh
And they will all believe
How they have been deceived
When I can share with them
My gripes with OS X

I should get it by Wednesday. I can't wait to hate it!
- Bernie  ¶ 1:43 AM 0 comments

Parental Filter I stopped by the trailer today and asked my mother if there have been any replies to the personal ad she placed in my name.

"No, Bernie, not yet," she says. "I thought you weren't interested in dating anyway."

"I'm not, mom," I say, "but you can't blame me for being a little curious."

"Of course not, Bernie," she said. "I can understand that."

"Not a single response?" I pout.

"Well, there were a couple, actually, but you wouldn't be interested," says my mom.

I perk up, "Of course I wouldn't be interested. I thought I made that clear," I say. "So, who responded?"

"Well," she says, if you must know, one was from a 24 year-old woman from Clinton. She's a teacher."

"Is she cute?" I ask, again, out of curiosity.

"She's Episcopalian," my mother says.

"Episcopalian!," I exclaim. "Oh yeah, we can't have that, now, can we? I mean, how can you be sure that their God is the same as our God. Maybe their Jesus is different too. And can you imagine mixing Catholic and Episcopalian blood? The children would probably come out all deformed. Thanks for protecting me from a fate worse than death, mom."

"Oh Bernie Boy," she giggles.

"What about the other response?" I ask my mom.

"Oh, it was from some rude person making a bad joke."

"Huh?"

My mom says, "It was from...," I could see she was having trouble finding the words. "It was from a man," she whispers. "He said he was looking for some," again, she faltered. "He was looking for some man on man action," she blushed.

I laugh. "Let me see the responses," I ask. "I'm just curious."

"I'm sorry, Bernie," my mom says. "I deleted them."

What a joke. Not only did my mother have the nerve to place a personal ad in my name without my consent, but now she's filtering the responses. With a firewall like my mother, I'll never get a date.

What a relief!
- Bernie  ¶ 4:17 PM 0 comments

Bernie Mac The Apple fanboys in the chatrooms continue to drool over the new MacBooks from Apple Computers. Some of them are even selling their older iBook's and PowerBooks so they can raise the money to buy the new MacBook. It's insane.

I'm a Windows guy. Always have been, always will be. Windows XP is a perfectly reliable and powerful operating system. Sure, you can run Windows XP on the new Intel-based computers from Apple using Boot Camp, a technology that Apple will include with the next version of their Operating system. Sure, a beta version of Boot Camp is available for free from Apple for users of the current version of OS X.

So what?, I say.

My old Dell runs Windows XP just fine, and Windows XP is all I want and all I need. There is no way in hell that I'd ever be caught ordering a Mac. There is simply no way!

So, I ordered my Mac...

I'm getting a 2.0GHz Intel Core Duo MacBook with 80GB 5400-rpm Serial ATA hard drive with 512MB RAM and a SuperDrive. I figure, why not? If I like it, great. If I don't, it will give me plenty of ammunition to slam these Apple fanboys with whatever gripes I might have about their precious Macs. As I see it, it's a win-win situation. And besides, my Dell is a desktop model. It couldn't hurt to have a portable computer as well. Not that I ever go anywhere, but hey: you never know.

I also ordered another copy of Window XP to load on the new MacBook. Some of the Apple fanboys are going to use pirated copies of Windows to load on their MacBooks, but not me. I don't steal software, and besides, Bill Gates has to eat too.

My MacBook ships in 3 to 7 business days. I can't wait to get it!
- Bernie  ¶ 4:01 PM 2 comments

Original Sin Everytime that Apple Computers announces a new product, all the Apple fanboys in the chatrooms I hang out in act like Steve Jobs, Apple's CEO, has come down from heaven and healed all the sick and rid the world of all diseases.

It makes me sick.

Yesterday, Apple announced the new MacBook, the slightly more affordable alternative to their MacBook Pro. That announcement, like all announcements from Apple, got the fan boys drooling like a pack of thirsty hound dogs on a hot day.

I'll let you in on a little secret about the Mac versus PC debate: the real reason that people like Macs is because they are idiot proof. I think it is nobler and more challenging to use a computer that requires the user to have some technical know-how to keep the computer running properly. Securing, maintaining, and troubleshooting a PC can be a difficult but rewarding experience, something that Mac users rarely experience, because Macs rarely give you trouble.

Where's the fun in that?

I am tempted to simply avoid the chatrooms from now on whenever Apple makes a new product announcement, because I'm just sick of hearing it. I try to point out to these people that their PC bashing is simply a cover for their lack of expertise, but they just don't get it.

Go ahead and waste your money on your precious Apples, fanboys, but realize this: the apple is the fruit most closely linked to original sin. When Adam bit into the apple that Eve had plucked from the Tree of Knowledge, Adam became the first Apple fanboy, and it has been downhill ever since.

I'm going to go cuddle with my Dell computer now.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:03 PM 0 comments

Stir-Fried Pinkie I finally was able to get through to iRobot about my broken roomba. When I explained that it was getting stuck in corners, they asked me to turn it over to see if there if there was anything lodged behind the roomba's front bumper. It's unbelievable how some companies will put their customers to work, rather than fix something themselves.

So, I turn the roomba over, and lo and behold, there was something lodged behind the front bumper! At first glance, it looked like somebody's pinkie finger. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped the roomba.

I told the iRobot service rep that I saw something in there, and that I was going to remove it. I quickly said "goodbye" and hung up.

My first thought was that I should call the police, because it could be evidence in a murder or something. Then I realized that somebody's pinkie being found in my roomba would make me the prime suspect. As I am relatively certain that I haven't hacked anybody's digits off recently, I decided it was unwise to put myself in jeopardy by calling the police.

I decided to take the law into my own hands and conduct my own investigation. First, I boiled a pair of tweezers in water to sterilize them. Then I got an evidence bag. Well, a sandwich bag actually. It's not like I keep a supply of evidence bags on hand!

I carefully removed the pinkie from the roomba and placed it in the sandwich bag. Then, I was able to get a good look at it. It wasn't a pinkie at all! It was a baby corn. And then I remembered: I made stir fried veggies and chicken last week. A baby corn must have fallen on the floor and gotten itself lodged underneath the roomba.

I cracked the case! Not only that, but my roomba is working again!

Don't tell the cops: but I threw the evidence in the garbage. I wasn't about to eat a baby corn that had been lodged under my roomba for the past week because I knew it would make me sick, although I doubt it could have made me sicker than thinking about about all the hours I wasted waiting on hold.

At least I can vacuum my carpet now.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:36 PM 0 comments

On Hold I called customer service at iRobot to arrange to get my roomba serviced. I was greeted by an answering machine telling me how important my call is, and to hold, and hold, and hold.

I called about ten times from work today just to hear my call is important, please hold.....still holding. I'm not sure what the point is to a warranty if you can't even get through customer service to get your roomba serviced. I'll try them again tonight. Maybe I'll have better luck.

My mom called me after I got home to make sure that I'm still talking to her after she posted an online personal ad in my name without my consent. She said, "You have some set of lungs. Your dad and I heard you scream after we left the house last night. Your mother didn't teach you to use language like that."

I said, "Sorry. I was upset. I still am. I really wish that you wouldn't meddle in my life."

As I fully expected, she went into guilt-trip mode without missing a beat. "Considering that your dad and I let you have the house to yourself," she said, "I'd think that you could show me a little gratitide."

What could I say? She's right. As long as I live under their roof, I have to let her play her little games.

I said, "Fine, mom, but I don't have to go on any dates if I don't want to."

"Fair enough, Bernie," she said. "You'd make me very happy if you could just look at some of the people who respond you your ad."

I said, "OK. Fine. How many responses has there been so far?"

"So far?" she asked.

"Yeah, mom."

"Well," she says, "so far...none." She quickly added, "But don't let that discourage you!"

"Discourage me?" I said. "Why would I be discouraged when something that I don't want to happen, isn't happening? I'm ecstatic."

"Oh, Bernie Boy," she giggled.

"I gotta go mom," I said. "I have to make a call about my roomba. I'll probably be on hold most of the night."

As far as dating goes, I hope I'm on hold for the rest of my life.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:50 PM 0 comments

Mother's Day Considering that it's Mother's Day, I shouldn't be thinking this, let alone writing it, but I am so furious at my mother that words fail me.

Actually, the words "Kill her" comes to mind, but I would only mean that figuratively, and I don't want to confuse anybody into thinking that I mean that literally, especially the police.

So, ixnay on the illkay ommay, OK?

Let's move on.

I invited her and dad over for a nice Mother's Day meal together. I made a nice shrimp and veggie medley sautéed in white wine, with saffron rice topped with salted peanuts, and a spinach soufflé so light it nearly levitated.

The meal was a hit all around, and when we were all just about finished up, my mom says, "So, tell me, Bernie, have you met any nice girls at work?"

She pulls this crap every Mother's Day, because she knows it's the one day of the year I can't scream my head off at her. She knows how to use Mother's Day immunity to her advantage.

"No, mom, no nice girls," I tell her. "A few bad ones maybe." I laugh.

"That can work," says my dad.

"OK, boys, enough with the jokes. I'm serious, Bernie. You should be dating, a nice boy like you. You spend too much time in front of that computer. You need to get out and enjoy yourself."

"I'll start dating when I want," I respond. "I just don't want to right now."

"Well," says my mother, "you shouldn't dawdle. Not everybody can just find a date anytime they want. Some people need a running start."

"A running start?" I ask. "Dad, do you know what she's talking about?"

"No idea," says Dad.

"I just mean you have to get in the game," my mom says. "You gotta be in it, to win it. If you don't get out there and socialize, you'll get stuck in a rut, and before you know it, you'll be more content to be alone than to share your life with someone special."

"What's so bad about that?" I ask.

I look at my dad. He shrugs.

"Bernie, dear," my mom says, as she grabs my hand. "Now, I hope you don't get mad at me..."

"Mom?! What did you do?!," I said, as I pulled my hand away.

She was looking awfully guilty about something. My heart started racing.

After a brief pause, she seemed to muster up some confidence, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Bernie, I posted a personal ad in your name on the computer. (My mom calls the Internet, and everything you can do on a computer, "the computer.")

Raising my voice, I said, "You what?!"

My dad shoots me a warning glare. I hang my head.

"It's for your own good, Bernie. You're a big boy, and you need a big push now and then."

"But mom, I'm not really into dating right now, and besides, you don't know the kind of person I'm looking for."

"Well," says my mother, "I would think that you wouldn't mind meeting a nice young lady. What's the harm in that?"

"Mom," I sigh. "I can't believe you did this."

"You can thank me for at it your wedding, Bernie boy." That's her pet name for me. "Bernie Boy."

She used my Dell to show me the personal ad that she posted in my name. I was mortified! She refused to give me the logon information, so I can't even delete it!

As soon as my mom and dad left to go back to the trailer, I went into my bedroom, closed the door, and screamed the "Eff word" loud enough to make a couple of my Star Wars figures fall off their shelves.

So, you want to see my mother's idea of a personal ad that she thinks that I'd post about myself? I'll bet you do. Go ahead and have your laughs. It only makes me realize how little she knows me. As if it weren't humiliating enough, she used her pet name for me as my user name.

Without any further bitching, it gives me great displeasure to present:

BernieBoy: Looking For A Nice Young Lady.

Crawling under a rock,
- Bernie  ¶ 5:08 PM 0 comments

Call For Roomba Help My roomba is on the fritz again. I had it set to vacuum the place this morning. When I got up, it was stuck in the corner. I picked it up and turned it around, but as soon as it found another corner, it got stuck again, and just kept banging itself against the wall, like a mental patient banging his head against the wall.

I'm at my wit's end with this thing. I decided to call an expert.

As soon as Leon Laponte's radio show, "The Techie on KFE" started, I called in to talk to Leon about my Roomba. After waiting on hold for fourty-five minutes, the call screener put me right on air. Here's a transcript of our conversation.

LEON: Hey, Bernie. You're talking to Leon, the Techie on KFE. What can I do for you?

ME: Hey Leon.

LEON: Is this Bernie_M?

ME: Yeah, Leon, it's me.

LEON: For those of you who don't know, Bernie is one of our operators in the KFE chatroom. The chatroom is a great way to participate in the show. There's a lot of bright people there in the peanut gallery. (laughs) We run a clean chatroom, so don't hesitate to join us there. It's a lot of fun. So, Bernie, what can I do for you?

ME: It's my roomba, Leon. A few weeks ago, it lost it's settings, and -

Leon: Hang on a sec, Bernie. Maybe we should explain what a roomba is first. Some people may not know.

Me: Sure, it's -

Leon: The roomba is a robot, made by a company called iRobot, that vacuums your carpet. Bernie, you mentioned settings?

ME: Yes.

LEON: So you got the roomba scheduler?

ME: That's right, Leon.

LEON: And what happened with the settings?

ME: Well, the settings aren't really my problem, but I was just going to mention that the roomba lost it's settings a few weeks ago, but I was able to reset them.

LEON: O......K, good!

ME: But now I'm having another problem.

LEON: What's the problem, Bernie?

ME: The roomba keeps getting stuck in corners.

LEON: Well, that's no good! (laughs)

ME: (laughs) Yeah, it's driving me crazy.

LEON: I can imagine. Now, I know you know this, Bernie, but for the listeners, I wanted to point out that the roomba uses various sensors, and these sensors are supposed to work together to keep the roomba moving on it's merry way, sucking the dirt and dust off of your carpet. Bernie, do you use virtual walls too?

ME: Yeah, Leon. They came with the roomba.

LEON: Virtual walls are transmitters that you can place on the floor to keep the roomba from entering certain areas...

Bernie: That's correct, Leon.

LEON: ...and the roomba has sensors to detect the virtual walls.

ME: Right.

LEON: So you have a whole lot of sophisticated stuff going on there. It sounds like one or more of the sensors that are built into the roomba are no longer functioning.

ME: Yeah, that's what I figured. You have any ideas?

LEON: Sure! Why don't you just get a vacuum cleaner, like everybody else?

ME: Aww, come on, Leon.

LEON: I'm serious, Bernie. Either that, or get the thing serviced. Is it still under warranty?

ME: Yes.

LEON: Well, there's your answer then. It's probably not something that the end user can fix themselves. You see, when you're dealing with a relatively new proprietary technology, like the roomba, there are just so many things that can go wrong. Here, you have a robot, with many moving parts, sensors, an onboard computer, and you're using this highly sensitive device to do housework. Come to think of it, my wife is highly sensitive, and she does housework. (laughs).

ME: (laughs)

LEON: Oh, I'm going to get a beating for that!

ME: Haha.

LEON: But seriously, the roomba is just way to prone to the very kind of problem that you're experiencing.

ME: So, you don't like roombas, Leon?

LEON: I like the idea. It's a good concept. I just don't think it's ready for prime time yet. I'd wait until iRobot comes up with something like Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons. (laughs) Until then, I'd recommend just sticking to a regular vacuum cleaner. I'm old fashioned that way, maybe. And honey, if you're listening, I was kidding honey! I love you!

ME: I love you too, Leon.

LEON: Well, thanks, Bernie, but I was talking to my wife.

ME: Oh, I knew that. (laughs)

LEON: But in your case, Bernie, since your roomba is still under warranty, I say, just get it serviced.

ME: OK, I'll do that. Thanks a lot, Leon.

LEON: Thank you, Bernie, and thanks for the great work you do in the chat room.

ME: My pleasure, Leon.

LEON: Take care.

So, I guess I'm going to contact iRobot to get this thing serviced.

What a pain!
- Bernie  ¶ 5:12 PM 2 comments

The Techie on KFE For those of you who have been living under a rock, Leon Laponte is a technical journalist who hosts a radio show out of Los Angeles called "The Techie on KFE." He also hosts something like 200 tech-related podcasts, and has written about a thousand books. For over two years now, it has been my extreme honor to be one of the operators in his IRC chatroom, where Leon joins us so he can get live tips from us to help his callers during his weekend radio show on KFE.

As an operator, it's my job to keep things family friendly, and to make sure that no one disrupts the chat.

If somebody spams their website, I kick them.

If somebody discusses politics, sports, or religion, I kick them.

If somebody harasses another chatter, I kick them (unless I don't like the person that they're harrassing, in which case I might turn a blind eye).

If somebody discusses distributing software illegally, I kick them.

If somebody uses ALL CAPS, I kick them.

If somebody uses bad language, or makes racist or sexist remarks, I ban them, then kick them.

If somebody questions me or any operator why somebody else was banned or kicked, I ban and kick them.

There are several other operators in the KFE chatroom, but between you and me, I do most of the work. It seems like the others are usually doing something on the weekend. It's just as well; they tend to cramp my style.

Being an operator for Leon Laponte has its perks. For one thing, I get mentioned on just about every show. I've called into the show on many occasions, and always get on the air.

I even have Leon's personal email and can write to him at any time. In addition to that, being an op gives me a sense of fullfilment, and, dare I say it: power.

I sent Leon an email earlier today to advise him that another operator, who goes by the name "Curty," won't be able to do the KFE show this weekend. Curty had IM'ed me to say that that he's going out of town to visit his parents this weekend. Unlike me, Curty's parents don't live in the yard. I'm a pro-active kinda guy, so I took it upon myself to let Leon know about it.

I just got a response from Leon that said, "I wasn't aware that Curty was ever there during the show. I realize the weekends can be tough for people. It's when they get a break from work and can take care of their personal business or just kick back and relax. As long as you're there, Bernie, I know I don't have a thing to worry about. Thanks for the 'heads up,' but as long as you are available, I don't really need to know what's going on with the other ops."

The thing is, I'm always availble, and Leon knows that I always have his back.

I feel like a mini-celebrity!
- Bernie  ¶ 3:53 PM 1 comments

Why I Don't Date When I got home from work today, I felt like having a quick sandwich, but I didn't have any coldcuts in the fridge, so I decided to stop by the trailer to see if I could glom a sandwich off of my mom.

I knocked on the trailer door and heard my mom yell, "Just a minute!" After waiting a bit, she opens the door, and says, "Sorry, dear. I was just getting dressed."

I shrugged and walked into the trailer, "I just thought I'd drop by and say hi. How you doing?"

She says, "Oh, I'm fine." I sit down at the kitchen table, which, as always, triggers the magic words: "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Sure, Mom," I say. "That'd be great."

She pulls out all the sandwich fixings, I tell her what I want, and she proceeds to make me a sandwich. My mom makes a killer roast beef sandwich.

She says, "I just bought this dress. I was just trying it on. What do you think? It doesn't make me look fat, does it?"

I said, "No, Mom, not at all." After a short pause for comedic effect, I said, "Your fat makes you look fat."

She pauses in mid-mayo-spread, puts down the knife, and says, "Make your own damn sandwich." Then she bursts into tears and runs into her bedroom.

I just don't get women! Why can't they take a joke?

I yell after her, "Aww, come on, Mom. I was kidding! You know I was kidding. You look great, Mom. It's a beautiful dress! It's so slimming. That's why I said that it makes you look fat. It was sarcasm, you see? The dress makes you look thin, so, natuarally, I said it makes you look fat, but as a joke! If it really made you look fat, I'd probably say that it makes you look skinny. See?"

"Mom!"

"Mom!"

After a few minutes of that, I finally coaxed her out of her bedroom. It's a good thing too.

That sandwich hit the spot!
- Bernie  ¶ 4:49 PM 1 comments

Sweet Revenge Turns Sour Today at work, I saw an opportunity to get my revenge on Howie for the prank email he sent to me last week.

I was walking by the area where he works, and I saw that he was away. None of his coworkers were around either, so I figured that they were in a meeting, or had all gone to lunch at the same time. Whatever the case was, I knew that I had to act fast.

Since I am a help desk technician for my company, it's not unusual to see me sitting at another person's desk working on their computer. Nevertheless, it was a good thing that none of his coworkers were in sight, because any one of them could tell Howie that they saw me at his desk, and the jig would be up.

My plan was to pull the ole fake desktop trick. The way it works is that you replace the wallpaper of the victim's computer with a screenshot of their desktop, then you hide all of their desktop shortcuts and their start menu. When the victim comes back to their computer and tries to click on anything, nothing happens! It's a classic prank that frustrates the hell out of its victims.

First, I pressed the print screen button to capture an image of Howie's desktop in the clipboard. Then I fired up MS Paint and pasted the image into it. Then I saved the image into his Windows directory with the name, "gotcha.bmp." Then I right-clicked on the desktop and chose "properties." I clicked the Desktop tab, then the browse button, and chose the image of the desktop that I just saved. So far, so good.

Then I dragged his start menu to the top of the screen, right clicked on it, chose "properties," then ckecked "auto-hide the taskbar." The only thing left to do was to hide the desktop icons.

I moved the cursor to the top of the screen and the hidden taskbar appeared. Then I clicked start and "My Computer." I had to drag all the desktop icons to a folder to hide them. I clicked on "Documets and Settings," then "Howie," and I noticed that he already had a folder called "desktop" there, so I thought that would be a good place to hide the icons. As I was selecting all of his desktop icons, preparing to drag them into the folder, I saw, from a distance, that Howie had just come back on the floor. He hadn't noticed me at his desk, but I knew I only had a couple of seconds.

I quickly dragged the icons into the folder and a dialogue box popped up. I quickly closed it and got up from his desk.

As I was walking away from his desk, Howie notices me, and says, "Hey, Bernie. What's up?"

I said, "Hi." I work on the complete opposite side of the building from Howie, so I had to come up with a quick excuse to explain why I was in his department. I said, "I was just passing by to ask you a question."

Howie said, "You need another ride?"

I laughed and said, "No, not this time. I was thinking of buying a dual-layer DVD burner, and I was wondering if you had any recommendations."

Howie said, "You can't go wrong with Plextor. Lite-on is another good brand, and they're really cheap. Sony drives are pretty reliable too. Is this for home or work?"

I said, "It's for home."

Howie says, "I know Newegg had a really good sale on NEC DVD burners recently. I've heard that they're pretty good. Let's see if they're still on sale," and he sits down at his computer.

This was better than I had hoped. I was actually going to witness him as he clicked his desktop to no avail. I bit my lip, tried my best not to grin, and said, "Sure, let's check it out."

Howie double-clicked on the Firefox icon on his desktop. I nearly gagged trying to fight back the laughter, and then, wouldn't you know it? Firefox opened! I was flabbergasted. What the hell happened?

Howie typed in "newegg.com," navigated to their drive section, and showed me a sale on a Lite-On DVD burner, as well as some good prices on the NEC drives he had mentioned.

Feeling dejected, I managed to say, "Thanks for the recommendations. I'll see you around," and then I walked away.

I didn't get too far before I heard Howie say, "Hey, Bernie!"

I turned and said, "What?"

He said, "Come here for a second."

I went back to his desk, then Howie says, "You notice something odd about this desktop?"

Thinking that he had discovered that his start menu was no longer working, I played dumb, looked and his desktop, and said, "No, why?"

Howie said, "Allow me to give you a hint," and he started moving his cursor all over the desktop.

I said, "I still don't see anything wrong." Then Howie settled his roving cursor so that it pointed to one small tell-tale object: an image of his cusor!

Howie says, "You see, Bernie, when you pull the fake desktop prank, you're supposed to hide the cursor before you take a screenshot of the desktop. Sure, not everyone will notice, but you can't prank a prankster. Having two cursors on the desktop is a dead givaway. Also, you're supposed to hide the desktop icons."

Before I knew what I was saying, I blurted out, "I thought I had!"

Howie says, "Well, you didn't. Now, let's see, where did you put my taskbar?" Howie moves his cursor along the edges of the screen, and when he moves it to the top, the hidden taskbar appears. He goes into it's properies, turns off the auto-hide, then drags the taskbar back down to the bottom of the screen.

Then, just to add insult to injury, he drags one of his desktop icons to the right, revealing the image of the same icon underneath it. Howie says, "Cute." He then goes into his display properties and sees the name of the image that I had saved. "'Gotcha,' huh?" he said, "Wishful thinking on your part. Haha." Then he set the wallpaper back to the original image.

Then Howie said, "I'd say 'nice try' but it really wasn't. Sorry, man, but like I said, you can't prank a prankster."

I said, "Damn!," and I walked away as Howie burst out laughing.

Later on, I realized why the desktop icons didn't go away. I was trying to copy them from the desktop to the desktop. I'm such an idiot! That dialogue box that I closed too quickly to read, said, "Cannot move file. The source and destination file names are the same."

I said it before and I'll say it again:

Damn!
- Bernie  ¶ 6:15 PM 2 comments

Poutine?! Just what the hell is going on up there in Canada? The inhabitants are obsessed with this junk food they call, "poutine."

And just what the heck is poutine, you may ask? It's a disgusting mixture of french fries, gravy, and cheese curds.

Cheese curds, my fellow Americans! I mean, I can understand french fries and gravy, and maybe American or cheddar cheese, but cheese curds?! I ask you: What in the Sam Hill are cheese curds? Sounds like curdled cheese to me, something that should be thrown away, NOT eaten. The one thing I do know about cheese curds is that they squeak when you eat them. You want your food to squeak when you eat it? Then eat a live mouse.

Just look at this stuff! It looks like it's already been eaten! Gross!

Who would want to eat a bunch of crusty squeaky old cheese curds covered with gravy?

Canadians, that's who. Canadians.
- Bernie  ¶ 3:58 PM 0 comments

When Fruit Attacks Yesterday, I had a real-life slapstick moment. I was headed into the local ShopRite, when I slipped on a banana peel and fell flat on my back. As I was getting up, some guy who was hanging out in front of the store started laughing and said, "What a cliché!" This got several other people who were hanging around laughing as well. I failed to see the humor in it, and stormed into the supermarket.

I went to the customer service desk and demanded to speak to a manager. After a few minutes, the store manager showed up, and I told him that I slipped on a banana peel in front of his store.

He chuckles and says, "Wow, what a cliché."

I said, "So I'm told." He could see I was in no mood for laughter.

He told the customer service person who called him to get somebody to clean up the banana. She picked up the phone, pushed a button, and I heard her say on the p.a. system, "Clean up in front of store entrance. Somebody slipped on a banana peel." I could hear people throughout the store laughing at the announcement.

The manager ended up giving me a $25 gift card and an apology. I hope that isn't considered "settling out of court," because I'm very tempted to sue them.

In the meantime, I'm going to boycott bananas and apply a heat pad to my aching back.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:54 PM 0 comments

OK Computer For the second night in a row, I pulled an all-nighter playing solitaire. The great thing about playing solitaire is that I don't need a high-end gaming rig. My old Dell handles solitaire just fine.

My entire computer cost as much as some people spend on their video card alone. I'm saving tons of dough because solitaire is the only game I play.

Come to think of it, maybe I just should have bought a deck of cards.
- Bernie  ¶ 3:23 AM 0 comments

Solitaire Hangover I had a great Friday night.

First, I dined on a nuked Hungry Man salisbury steak dinner. Then I played Microsoft ® Solitaire while drinking diet coke and listening to a home-brewed mix of John Philip Sousa interspersed with old time radio advertisements until I passed out at the keyboard.

I haven't partied like this in ages!

My head is pounding. I need a little of the hair of the diet coke that bit me, and then...

Back to Solitaire!

Burp,
- Bernie  ¶ 5:22 PM 0 comments

The "B" Word Dear Blog:
I'm going to dispense with the "Dear Blog" salutation from now on.

It's not that I don't love you, blog.

I do.

It's just that the word, "blog," appears so many times in this blog, that the google ads think that this is a blog about blogs and is serving ads almost exclusively about blogs.

I didn't do myself any favors by writing that last line. I'm only on my sixth sentence in this post and I'm already on my ninth "blog"!

The thing is, I want to see what happens to the Google ads when I phase out the "b" word. It would be interesting to see what other kinds of ads show up. I'm just trying to mix things up a bit. I hope you understand, dear blog.

And so (and I say this for the last time), Dear Blog, you will forever be my muse, although I will never utter your name again.

Bernie has spoken!
- Bernie  ¶ 3:45 PM 0 comments

Licence To Be Stoopid Dear Blog:
Today, at work, I got the following email from my coworker, Howie:

You need to check this out everybody!!!!

Invasion Of Privacy!!!

I just found this.

You can see anyone's Driver's License on the Internet - including your own! I just searched for mine and there it was.. .picture, address and all! Maybe we should start up a petition or something protesting this.

What do you think? Go to the website and check it out. It's unbelievable!!!

Just enter your name, City and state to see if yours is on file.

CLICK HERE

I was outraged! The constant invasion of privacy prevalent on the Internet is something that concerns all of us. Something has to be done about it!

Boy did I feel stupid after I looked up my licence on the link that Howie sent me. Go ahead and look up your own: you'll see what I mean. Enter phoney information if it makes you feel safer.

I'm going to have to think of some way to get my revenge on Howie.

'Till next time.
- Bernie  ¶ 4:22 PM 0 comments

There's an Echo in Here. There's An Echo In Here. Dear Blog:
Soon after getting home from work I heard someone knocking on my front door.

I went to answer it and found a lady on my front porch. I wasn't sure, but I thought she was the lady that lives across the street.

She says, "Hi. I'm Liz. I live across the street."

See! I told you!

She says that she got my letter about the barking dog. She apologized for keeping me up the other night, and explained that she was just minding the dog for a friend who had gone away for a short vacation. It seems the dog was experiencing some separation anxiety. Then she told me that the dog's owner had already returned and collected the dog.

"So," she continues, "you shouldn't be hearing the dog again. Are we ok?"

I say, "Are we ok?"

She says, "What?"

I said, "What?"

She says, "I'm sorry that the dog disturbed you. I hope you can forgive me."

I said, "I hope you can forgive me."

I was repeating everthing she was saying and I couldn't seem to stop!

She smiles and says, "You wouldn't be poking fun at me, would you?"

I say, "Would you?"

She says, "I'm sorry?"

I say, "I'm sorry," and I close the door.

That could have gone better, I think.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:09 PM 0 comments

Cable Down Dear Blog:
Bernie, or rather I, told you it wouldn't last long...

I came home from work yesterday only to learn that my cable was down. I had no TV and no Internet.

I was pretty upset, because with their Internet broadband package and nearly all of the premium TV channels, I pay Cablevision, my cable company, nearly $150 a month.

I called Cablevision and they said that there was a cable outtage in my area, and that two technicians were on the scene working to rectify the problem.

I asked her if there was an ETA for the cable repair.

She said that there was no ETA available at the moment.

I asked her if she could tell me the exact location of the men. I explained, "I'm a help desk technician by profession. Maybe I can lend a hand."

She explained that my offer was appreciated, but unfortunetly, the onsite work can be dangerous, and their insurance wouldn't cover me.

Oh well. I tried.

I wished her luck on fixing the problem, and told her if there is anyway to "nudge" the technicians, that I would greatly appreciate it. Then I said "goodbye."

The thing is, 24 is on TV on Monday nights, and I'm hooked on that show.

My parents don't have cable, but they do have a TV with a small antenna mounted on top of the trailer. I decided to drop by and ask if I could watch 24 at their place.

My Dad asks, "What's wrong with your TV?"

I told him my cable went down on me.

He said, "For $150 a month, it should go down on you."

I'm not quite sure what he meant by that. My dad doesn't really know that much about cable, I guess.

Anyway, it was another great episode of 24. Go, Jack, go!

'Till tomorrow.
- Bernie  ¶ 3:55 PM 2 comments

He, Himself, and Him Dear Blog:
Yesterday Bernie Michaels referred to himself in the third person. Bernie thought that was pretty cool. Bernie liked it when Bob Dole referred to himself in the third person. Bernie thinks that Bob Dole would have made a fine president.

Bernie had a pretty uneventful day, just the way he likes it. His car is doing fine. His garage door opens with no problem. He went to work, did his job, and went back home. The new lawnmower that he bought works very well, and his lawn looks great.

Bernie is happy.

Quick. Take a picture.

It never lasts long.
- Bernie  ¶ 3:31 PM 0 comments