Yeth! About five years ago, when my parents were still living in the house, I managed to talk them into upgrading our regular cable TV service to digital cable TV. About a year ago, I switched from a DSL Internet connection to high-speed cable internet. Today, I decided to call Comcast, my cable company, and add their digital phone service to my service plan.

I called their main number, pushed-buttoned my way through a few voice-menus, and within minutes, I was on the phone with a customer service representative. It's funny, but I never seem to get through as quickly when I have a problem, but when I want to give them more money, I get right through.

The rep took my order, and asked me to stay on the line to go through a verification process. He explained that it would only take a couple of minutes, and that he could not complete my order unless I completed the verification process. Apparently, Comcast wants to have a digitally-recorded record of my voice, detailing my order, my contact information, and my understanding of certain limitations and conditions of the service.

The verification process was done by an automated system. A prerecorded voice asked me a series of questions, and then asked me to answer after the tone. For instance, the automated system said, "Please state your first and last name after the tone." Beeeeeeep.

To which I replied, "Bernie Michaels."

See?

Well, there were quite a few questions, and I found myself getting a little exasperated with the process.

Now, there's something about me that I never mentioned before. When I was younger, I used to have a pretty bad lisp. It still comes out now and then, especially when I'm excited or angry. Well, apparently it decided to rear its ugly head during the verfication process.

The verification system said, "If you should cancel your cable service, it is your responsibility to return the cable modem to your local Comcast office or you will be charged for the equipment. At the tone, please say yes to indicate your understanding of this condition." Beeeeeep.

"Yeth," I said.

"I'm sorry, " the system said. "I didn't understand your response." Then it repeated what it said before, and asked me to say yes at the tone.

Beeeeeeep.

"Yeth! Yeth! Yeth!" I said, hoping that at least one would be clear enough to be understood.

"I'm sorry," said the apologetic system. "Please hold on while I connect you with an operator to complete the verfication process."

Of all the stupid things! If a live operator could help me complete the verification process, why put me on the phone with a stupid computer in the first place? Sometimes I think the world has gone automation crazy.

Anyway, the good news is, I'll be able to pick up my self-installation kit on the way home from work tomorrow, and in about a week, they'll activate my digital phone service and I'll have unlimited digital calling throughout the U.S. at a nice savings over my current plan with my phone company.

Thweet!
- Bernie  ¶ 8:36 PM 0 comments

Intruder Alert This morning at about three o'clock I was awoken from a deep sleep by the sound of breaking glass. The sound came from the livingroom. I live alone, so the only thing I could think of was that someone had broken into my house.

I wish I could say that I had a security system in my house, but I don't. My town is a low crime area, and getting a security system has never really been a priority. I found myself sitting in bed, with my heart racing, and regretting my decision not to have a security system installed.

I have several phones in the house, including a cordless phone in the bedroom. I reached for my phone to take it out of it's charging base so I could call 911. The phone wasn't there. Then I remembered that I had left it in the living room last night. Drat!

I was going to have to think of a way to deal with the intruder myself.

I looked around my bedroom for a weapon. About the only thing I could find was the Star Wars light saber that I had just bought at the comic convention. I grabbed it, slowly opened my bedroom door, and cautiously stepped into the hallway.

"I've called the cops!" I yelled, hoping that my bluff would scare the intruder away. I didn't hear any response. I tip-toed down the hallway, inching my way towards the livingroom.

I yelled again, "I'll have you know that I am armed! Leave now if you do not want to get hurt." Then I pushed the button on my light saber and the neon tube glowed red. The effect was dramatic. Still, I heard nothing.

I reached the end of the hallway, reached around the corner, and flicked on the living room light switch. I ducked back into the hallway, fearing an attack. And yet, I still didn't hear anything.

I slowly peeked around the corner into the living room. The first thing I noticed was that the livingroom windows appeared to be in tact. Then I noticed some broken glass on the floor. I inched my way towards it. I noticed that the glass was from a candle holder that I keep on one of my end tables. Lying on the end table, where the candle holder used to sit, was the culpit: a pewter unicorn that had fallen from the mantlepiece.

I turned off the light saber and took a deep breath.

I placed the unicorn back on the mantlepiece. Then I swept up the shattered candle holder and threw it in the trash. I grabbed my cordless phone and my light saber and headed back to my bedroom.

This Jedi needed a few more hours of shut eye before getting up for work.

Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm a complete moron.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:01 PM 0 comments

Wrong Buffett Boy do I feel like a tool. I've been informed that I was mistaken about Jimmy Buffet being the second richest man in the world. That would be Warren Buffett, not Jimmy. The funny thing is, I never even heard of Warren Buffett. As far as I know, unlike Jimmy Buffett, Warren Buffett hasn't had a single hit, and yet he somehow managed to amass the second largest personal fortune on the planet.

From what I understand, Warren Buffet is CEO of a company called Berkshire Hathaway Inc. I haven't heard of that either, but as far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with margaritas.

I've learned that the two Buffett's are friends, and may be distantly related. One is a billionaire, and the other is a millionaire. I'd call that pretty distant.

Pictured here you see Warren in the black hat, and Jimmy in the white hat. Damn, that's a nice looking burger. The fries look pretty awesome too. Mmmmmmmmm.

Er, where was I?

Anyway, I screwed up. Sorry about that.

I should probably refrain from commenting on current events in the future.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:57 PM 0 comments

Wasting Away In Margaritaville? I heard something in the news over the weekend that has me completely perplexed. Apparently, Jimmy Buffett, singer and songwriter of such hits as "Margaritaville," will be giving away 85% of his wealth to five charitable foundations, one of which is the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, run by Microsoft chairman - and the world's richest man - Bill Gates and his wife, Melinda.

The thing that has me confused is that they said on the news that Buffett is the second richest man in the world. Now, I know that "Margaritaville" got a lot of airplay, and Jimmy Buffet has had a few other hits in addition to that. I also know that he co-owns a couple of restaurant chains, but richest man in the world? How in the tarnation did that happen?

Apparently the reports of Jimmy Buffet wasting away in Margaritaville were greatly exaggerated.

Clueless,
- Bernie  ¶ 8:20 PM 0 comments

Comic Conned I got up bright and early this morning and took a shower in preparation for my trek to the city to attend the Big Apple Comic Convention. I needn't have bothered. As I soon learned, comic book fans are a pungent lot.

My Dad told me that if I could make some money from his old comics, I was more than welcomed to sell them. I bundled up a few of my Dad's old Batman comics from the early 60's with the intention of getting them graded by Comics Guaranty, LLC. I had learned that they were doing on-site grading after emailing a comic book store earlier in the week. Comics Guaranty, or CGC, is an independent comic book certification company that takes some of the aggrevation out of dealing comic books by applying an widely respected opinion of the condition of comic books.

I didn't want to spend a lot of money, and parking in the city is insanely expensive, so I drove to Jersey City and parked my car near Journal Square. Then I took the Path train to midtown Manhattan. The convention was right around the corner from the 33rd Street Path Station.

I walked in the building and passed a man who strongly resembled Buddah and got on the escalator which took me to the convention floor. I looked around and saw a lot of dealer tables covered with comics, toys, and DVDs. I was trying to figure out where to pay my $10 admission. After a moment, I realized that the Buddah guy was security for the convention, and that I had gotten past him and was already in the convention hall. Apparently, I should have bought my ticket downstairs somewhere before heading to the escalator. So I had unintentionally snuck into the comic con.

So far, this was turning out to be a very inexpensive day in the city.

After walking around for a bit, I spotted the CGC table. I was disappointed to learn that they were not doing on-site grading. I was hoping to go back home with the comics already graded. However, they were accepting on-site submissions. As I learned from the CGC representative, even if they had provided the service on site, the cost would be a lot higher, more than I'd be willing to pay. The CGC rep helped me fill out their submission form, and I handed over three of my Dad's old comics.

I don't know much about comics, but I've been doing some research, and I'm hoping that these three will get a good grade and fetch a pretty fair price on eBay. I won't know if my inexperienced assessment of their condition is accurate for another month or so, when I'll get them back from CGC in the mail. If I am correct, I think one is worth about $80, another about $155, and the third about $180. We'll see.

CGC charges a pretty penny to grade comics, so having them grade your comics can be a bit of a gamble. I paid them $112 to grade the three comics. No, that's not a typo. I paid over a hundred dollars to get somebody's opinion of the condition of three comics books. Crazy, I know. My hope is that getting them graded will increase my chances of getting a fair market price for them, and that said price will be greater than the expense to have them graded.

Once I had forked over my dad's valuable comic books and my credit card information to a perfect stranger, I was tempted to just head back home, but since I made the trip there and snuck in and all, I figured I might as well stroll around for a bit.

Robert Vaughn, the actor from The Man From Uncle, was sitting at a table selling autographs for $20. Nobody was buying. I felt sorry for him, so I got an autograph. Maybe I can sell it on eBay. Then I saw this guy selling Star Wars light sabers with neon lighting. I just had to have one. I bought one for $40. Then I saw this guy selling all these Marvel comics from the mid-70's that his son had acquired in a warehouse sale. They were in great shape and dirt cheap. I bought two dozen Fantastic Four, Spiderman, and Iron Man comics for $20.

I quickly realized that I was parting with far more money than I had intended. I decided to get out of there. On the way to the exit, I spotted a table with Star Wars figures. As I've mentioned in the past, I already have a collection of Star Wars figures which I keep on a shelf in my bedroom. Well, my collection just grew ten figures larger, and my wallet grew $60 lighter.

So much for the $10 I saved by sneaking in. In less than an hour, I had parted with $252 of my hard-earned cash, and what do I have to show for it?

A big bag of crap, that's what.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:41 PM 0 comments

Nerd Convention I was planning on going to the Big Apple Comic Convention today. My Dad has some old comic books from the early sixties that I thought I might bring to the convention to see if I could get an idea what they're worth. Unfortunately, it was raining cats and dogs all day, and I just didn't feel like dealing with the weather. Instead, I helped moderate Leon Laponte's chatroom like I always do.

I think I'll go tomorrow, come rain or come shine.

Or maybe not. We'll see.

Stay tuned.
- Bernie  ¶ 10:50 PM 0 comments

My Falafel Philosophy Ken, the coworker that suggested that we order from that Turkish take out joint the other day, told me he was sick and tired of me complaining about the dreaded döner kebab. He insisted that I give the place another chance. This morning he handed me the menu and asked me to try something else. If I didn't like it, he said that lunch was on him. That sounded fair to me.

I didn't want to take any chances, so I asked for a falafel sandwich. It's one of my favorite foods, but I didn't tell Ken that. He picked up lunch and brought it back to the office. He stared at me as I took my first bite. I grimaced and said "Yuk!" It was delicious!

Ken said, "You don't like it?"

I said, "It's gross."

Ken said, "Oh well, I tried. Just put it back in the bag. You don't owe me a dime."

I said, "Now, hold on a second. Let me try another bite." I bit another huge chunk out of it.

The tahini sauce was superb. The lettuce and tomatos were fresh and crispy. "Disgusting!" I said.

He said, "There's no accounting for taste." He put out his hand and said, "Just give me the sandwich."

I said, "Back off! I haven't gotten to the falafel yet!" I took several more mouth-watering bites. The falafel balls were out of this world. I said, "How can people eat this garbage?!"

Ken said, "Dude, don't force yourself. You'll make yourself sick."

I set the sandwich down, pulled out my wallet, and plunked down some cash. I said, "I'm just yanking your chain, man. It's excellent."

I confessed to Ken that I had falafel before, and that this was one of the best I've ever tasted. As we finished up our lunch, I shared with Ken my falafel philosophy.

Laugh if you must, but I truly believe that the falafel, that little fried ball of crushed chickpeas and breadcrumbs, can be the catalyst for peace in the Middle East, and possibly the world. Embraced by both Arabs and Israelis, and with growing popularity in Western countries, the falafel is becoming the tie that binds our diverse cultures. Even vegetarians can't object to it!

Sadly, however, some people do.

Some conservative Islamist groups see the falafel as a threat, and these groups have recently made an effort to have the falafel banned in Iraq. Although they rationalize their ban on the fact that the falafel didn't exist back in the Prophet Muhammad's time, the real reason for the ban is obvious: they are threatened by the falafel because they fear that the falafel will unite Muslims and Jews, a notion that outrages certain Islamic fundamentalists.

It probably bugs a Jew or two too.

I for one, salute the falafel, and one day, I hope that the peace-hating extremists will see the error of their ways and join the world in it's love of the falafel as it unites the planet in peace, harmony, and tahini sauce.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:52 PM 0 comments

Am I Here To Amuse You? Yesterday I wasn't feeling too well. One of my coworkers talked some of us into having some Turkish take-out food for lunch. I was feeling adventurous, so I thought I'd try something new and ordered a döner kebab sandwich, which I was told is similar to a gyro. They slow cook a great big cone-shaped slab of lamb and beef, slice off bits of it with a massive knife, and stuff the meat slices in pita bread along with lettuce, tomatos, onions, and a mystery white sauce that I suspect is closely related to yogurt.

I was disgusted with it from the very first bite.

At first, I just figured that it was one of those foods that needed an aquired taste, so I ate the whole damn thing. Once I finished it, my initial impression was confirmed: it was truly disgusting and I did not aquire a taste for it. With the foul taste of the sandwich in my mouth, and the pool of grease in my stomach, I was nauseated the rest of the day.

When I got home, I didn't feel up to writing a new post, so I copped out and posted a video from YouTube instead. I know it was a boring video, but have a look at the name of this web log. The word "boring" is part of the title! And yet, a couple of you have given me grief over yesterday's entry.

All I can say is that I'm sorry. I can't promise you that every post will be entertaining, but one thing I can promise you: I will never eat another freakin' döner kebab...

ever!
- Bernie  ¶ 3:49 PM 2 comments

I Like Robots   ¶ 6:56 PM 1 comments

Ladies and Gentlemen: The Beetles! It seems that I have new unwelcomed house mates. I first noticed them showing up in my bathroom a couple of weeks ago. Everyday, I'd find two or three tiny black beetles either dying or dead on my bathroom floor. On one occasion, I found one in the toilet bowl, an apparent victim of suicide. I wasn't terribly concerned about it until a few nights ago, when one of them crossed the line.

I woke up in the middle of the night this past Friday, awoken by a tingling sensation on my right hand. I switch on my bed lamp, and saw one of these beetles crawling on my hand. Perhaps it had made the trek from the bathroom, across the hall to my bedroom, and decided that it would be fun if it crawled on me. Its fun did not last long. Picking it up between my thumb and forefinger, I crushed its tiny body.

Still, I wasn't overly concerned. I figured that it was a fluke that one of the bathroom beetles made its way to my bedroom. However, the very next night, I was awoken by a beetle crawling on my head. That was the last straw!

On Sunday morning, I went out and bought some bug foggers. I had Leon's show to tend to so I didn't want to fog the entire house. I put one in my bedroom and one in the bathroom. I put up a blanket over the entrance to the hallway to block the area I was fogging from the livingroom. Then I set the bombs off and let them do their thing while I helped to monitor Leon's chat room.

I went to bed that night, confident that the foggers did their trick and that my pest problem was eliminated. As it turned out, the beetles were less confident than I. For the third night in a row, one of the little buggers woke me up by crawling on me.

The photo you see here is the third beetle. If one more shows up, I'm booking them to play a concert at Shea Stadium.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
- Bernie  ¶ 9:13 PM 0 comments

The Bernie Curse Takes On The Hosers As I told you yesterday, whenever I root for a sports team, they lose. Today was the seventh and final game of the Stanley Cup Final with the Carolina Hurricanes and the Edmonton Oilers looking to capture the Cup. For the sake of the USA, I had decided to use The Bernie Curse to my country's advantage by cheering for the Canadians.

It made me feel a little dirty, but since it was for the good of the ole stars and stripes, I was willing to endure it.

I woke up with Canada on my mind. For breakfast, I had pancakes with Canadian maple syrup. For lunch, I had a can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale with my sandwich. For dinner, I would have even braved a serving of poutine but fortunately for me poutine is impossible to come by in a civilized place like New Jersey. I settled for buffalo wings and fries with gravy which I got from a take out joint on the way home from work. While my dinner may have lacked anything Canadian, the gobs of grease in it seemed appropriate considering I was cheering for a team called the "Oilers."

All my pseudo-Canadian pride paid off. The Edmonton Oilers, the team I was rooting for, lost the Stanley Cup to the Carolina Hurricanes with a final score of 3-1.

What do you know about that, my fellow Americans? I finally did something right.

And to you hosers, all I have to say is, "Sorry, eh?"
- Bernie  ¶ 11:00 PM 1 comments

I'm Sorry It never fails: whenever I cheer for a team, they lose.

Yesterday, I cheered on the Carolina Hurricanes, and they lost game six of the Stanley Cup Final.

I'm sorry, America. It's all my fault.

If the Hurricanes had won the game they would have taken the Cup. Instead, the Oilers won 4-0, and the Stanley Cup Final will be decided in game seven on Monday night.

In order to do right by my country and to insure that the Hurricanes will win the Stanley Cup, come this Monday night, I'll be rooting for the Oilers.

Go Oilers!
- Bernie  ¶ 7:12 PM 0 comments

USA vs Canada I spent all morning practicing Burnout: Revenge on the Xbox in preparation for this evening's international battle. When I first started playing the game earlier in the week, I couldn't even manage to make a connection between what I was doing to my Xbox controller and what I was seeing on my TV screen. After this morning's practice, I was finally getting the hang of it.

Representing Canada in tonight's online match was Curty from Edmonton, Alberta. Representing the United States of America was yours truly, Bernie_M, from Service Road, New Jersey.

As soon as Leon's radio show ended, Curty and I fired up our Xbox 360's and took to the streets, the virtual streets, this is, for a race to the death. Unfortunately, all my practice failed to pay off. It gives me great sadness to report that Curty completely clobbered me. My sincerest apologies go out to all of my fellow Americans. Mark my words: there will be a rematch.

I wanted to go on playing all night, but Curty had to stop after a few hours to watch game six of the Stanley Cup Final between the Carolina Hurricanes and the Edmonton Oilers. Hopefully the Hurricanes do a better job beating Canada than I did. I'm not even into hockey, but after getting my ass handed to me by Curty, all I have to say is...

Go Canes!
- Bernie  ¶ 9:28 PM 0 comments

Almost a Hero I had to go to my company's training center in Newark for a class today. I always get a little nervous when I go to Newark, partly because it's the car-jacking capital of the country, but mostly because cities in general just scare me.

After the class, I left the building and was headed back to the parking facility where I had parked my car. Out of nowhere, I see this gang of kids jump this guy wearing a long purple wig, a black lace dress, and high-heeled shoes. The kids punched the transvestite to the ground and gathered around kicking him.

I wanted to help, but I was afraid of getting beat up as well. I looked around for a cop. It's true what they say: you can never find one when you need one. I would have called 911, but like a fool, I left my cell phone at home.

I saw another man come walking around the corner. He sees the ongoing assult as well. I say to the man, "Do you have a cell phone? Call the cops!"

The man says, "I don't have a cell phone, man." I felt so helpless. The poor guy was getting the crap beat out of him. After another few seconds, the man who just came around the corner says, "I may not have a cell phone, but those punks don't know that."

Then he walked up to the gang of thugs and screamed, "I just called the cops on you! They'll be here any second! Beat it or go to jail! Your choice!"

Why hadn't I thought of that?

The kids stopped kicking the man and looked at each other with uncertainty. For a minute, I thought they were going to attack the man who just yelled at them. Then, as if reading each other's minds, they took off running down the street, leaving their victim lying on the sidewalk. He was battered and bleeding, but he was still conscious.

The guy who scared them off and I helped the beaten transvestite back to my company's building. We helped him onto a bench in the building's lobby and I told the security guard to call an ambulance.

I guess the guard called the cops as well, because they arrived in minutes. While we waited for the ambulance, one of the police officers questioned me and the other man, while another one took a statement from the transvestite. At one point, I noticed the transvestite pointing to the helpful bystander, saying, "..and that man told them that he called the cops, so they took off. I'd be dead if is wasn't for him!"

Then the transvestite raises his voice, points at me, and says, "And that damn fool just stood there with that dumb expression on his face and didn't do nothing!"

I couldn't wait to get back to the suburbs.
- Bernie  ¶ 7:06 PM 1 comments

Howie-sensei? I heard from Curty over IM at work today. He said he'd be able to play Burnout: Revenge on Xbox Live with me sometime on Saturday evening. I said that would be fine. What I didn't tell him is that I'm a complete spazz at playing the game. Somehow, I had to figure out a way to get my game on by Saturday, and show Curty that I cannot be owned.

Later on, I bumped into my co-worker and former chauffeur, Howie. Since he is clearly even geekier than me, I thought he might be interested to know that I got an Xbox 360. It turns out that he has one as well. Not only that, but he told me that he is a master at playing Burnout: Revenge. I told him that I was having trouble getting a feel for the game, and asked him if he had any pointers for me.

"Sure," Howie said. "I'll be happy to give you some pointers. We should get together and play sometime."

As I don't have a lot of time to master the game, I asked him if he'd like to stop by my place tonight and show me the ropes. He said, "Sure. I'll just stop by my place to pick up a controller and I'll come right over to your place."

I felt a little sorry for Howie. Here was a guy who obviously has no life; he was able to make time that very night with little warning.

On the other hand, I'm the one who invited him over, so what does that say about me?

Anyway, I told him that I'd order some Chinese food to be delivered so we'd have something to munch on while he showed me how to play Burnout.

Howie showed up at my place after work just as planned. Although he'd given me rides to and from work before, he'd never actually been to my house, so this was his first visit. The Chinese food showed up soon after Howie did.

After nibbling on some General Tso's chicken and fried rice, we settled on my couch to play Burnout: Revenge.

Howie said, "Since I am your teacher, you will address me as 'Howie-sensei'."

"What does that make me?" I asked.

Howie shrugged and said, "Bernie-san, I guess, or would you prefer 'grasshopper'?"

"Bernie-san it is then," I said.

We played for about two hours straight. I was totally amazed at how much control he had over his car. He just flew through the streets, smoothly negotiating every street corner, sending other cars careening into walls and into each other. His claims of being a master were well-founded.

As I am typing this it occurs to me that Howie-sensei did not impart upon me a single word of wisdom, not one pointer, no tips, no advice, nothing. All he did was eat the food that I had paid for while totally owning me.

Thanks for nothing, Howie-sensei.

I am so screwed come Saturday night.
- Bernie  ¶ 8:10 PM 0 comments

Crash Course In a way, it might be a good thing that Curty wasn't availble to play Burnout:Revenge over Xbox Live last night. I've been playing the game by myself, and I have to be honest: I'm not very good at it. At least now I'll have time to hone my driving skills before taking on Curty in an online match.

The graphics on this thing are amazing. I just hope I don't confuse my video driving with my real life driving and start crashing into cars as I tool around the Garden State.

That would be bad.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:05 PM 0 comments

Unbelievable! Get this: just as I'm about to go to bed, I get an instant message from Curty. He tells me that he had a date tonight. A real date. With a girl. He completely forgot about me! He apologized and said we'd have to set up another date to play Breakout.

What a two-timing hussy!
- Bernie  ¶ 9:22 PM 5 comments

Screw This! I was hoping to have an online play date with Curty today, but it appears that I've been stood up. I don't know what happened to Curty, but I start work at 7 AM, and I have to go to bed soon. Even if he does show up now, I have no time to play. I hope that Curty doesn't make a habit of this. After all, I spent nearly $500 on all that Xbox junk just so I could play with Curty.

Good night.
- Bernie  ¶ 9:12 PM 0 comments

And waiting I can't beieve this! I've been waiting over two and a half hours, and still no word from Curty.

This is getting annoying.
- Bernie  ¶ 8:36 PM 0 comments

Still Waiting Damn! Curty is over fourty-five minutes late.

Where the hell are you, Curty?
- Bernie  ¶ 6:46 PM 0 comments

Curty Must Be Running Late I had expected to hear from Curty fifteen minutes ago. Maybe he got held up in traffic.

I'll wait.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:18 PM 0 comments

Online Play Date, Part II
I got a fully-loaded Xbox 360 and a copy of Burnout: Revenge last night along with an XBox Live 12 month starter kit. By the end of the day, I had spent a shocking $492.63, but the good news is that I am all set to play Burnout: Revenge, the car-crashing multi-player video racing game, with Curty.

One thing is clear: Curty is not a cheap date.

I contacted Curty from work via instant messenger. Curty lives in Alberta, Canada. He said that he'd be home and set to play online at 6 PM my time. That's a little over an hour from now.

I'm going to make myself a quick dinner. By the time I'm done, it'll be car-smashing time.

This should be fun!
-Bernie  ¶ 4:57 PM 0 comments

Online Play Date Considering that I recently spent money on my MacBook, an Apple product, I've been thinking that it's time that I toss a little money to Microsoft. I don't want to be boxed into either the Apple or Microsoft camp. I like to spread my wealth around. That's how I roll.

Today, I was talking to Curty, one of the other KFE operators. He bought the Xbox 360 and subscribes to Xbox Live. He was telling me about this racing game called Burnout: Revenge. In it, you race a car while trying to crash as many cars as you can. It sounds like a lot of fun.

So much fun, in fact, that I'm going to Best Buy tonight to get a copy of the game along with an Xbox 360.

Once I have it, I'll set up a date to play with Curty.

I'm psyched!
- Bernie  ¶ 6:36 PM 0 comments

A Logger's Life Is A Lonely One If you saw yesterday's post, you know that I lost my Internet connection during Leon Laponte's radio show, and was unable to capture the chat logs. I normally send them to Leon to post in the show notes on his website so that people can download them and read what took place in the chat room during the show. Fortunately, a regular chatter was keeping a log of the show, and he was kind enough to send me a copy.

Last year, I had used a Mac at work to write a KFE Automator workflow script that helps to automate some of the steps required to prepare the logs for the web site. I sent the script to the other moderators (AKA "operators" or "ops") in the KFE chatroom, but as far as I know, none of them use it. After yesterday's near crisis, it became clear to me that I need somebody else to back me up in case something like this happens again. I felt that if I could make the process even more efficient, then maybe I can get the other ops to buy into it and provide some backup.

With renewed vigor, I stayed up until the wee hours making modifications to the old script and testing it. Before going to bed, I sent the new KFE Automator workflow script to the other KFE operators with the following note:

I just wrote a new Automator script for processing the #KFE chat logs. I know some of you have the old script, but this works quite well. This script does the following (* means new feature):

1. Parses the #KFE log for the current show
2. Creates a text file for each hour and places it on the desktop
*3. Renames each file so that it is in the proper format for the wiki (yyyymmdd-hour number)
4. Creates a zip file of the three files
5. Creates a new e-mail message pre-addressed to Leon
*6. Moves the .txt and .zip files to the trash (Note: Make sure these are the only .txt and .zip files on your desktop)
*7. Creates an archive of the #KFE log
*8. Renames the #KFE archive to current date_#kfe_archive
*9. Moves to the trash DSLxNET-#kfe.log

A few things to be aware of:

Steps 7-9 were added to keep the workflow running efficiently. As the log file gets bigger over the various weeks, the longer it takes to process. Additionally, once the log file gets too big, you will eventually get an out of memory error, so these steps keep the script robust.

Anything referring to a profile name would have to be changed (i.e. bmichael).

I'm sending this all to the channel operators in the event that I'm not around for a show (or if I lose my Internet connection, like I did yesterday) and someone else needs to send the logs to Leon. I figure I did all the work so you don't have to.

Well, this morning I wake up to find an email from one of the other KFE moderators who goes by the name of "Squeaks." Squeaks' email was short. It read:

Nobody cares about the chat logs except you. There's really no point in wasting so much time on them.

None of the other ops responded at all.

How's that for gratitude?!
- Bernie  ¶ 5:15 PM 0 comments

Poop And Porn Today I did what I do every Saturday and Sunday: I moderated the KFE chatroom for radio host, Leon Leponte. About a half hour into the show, I got disconnected from the chatroom. At first, I suspected it was a problem with my MacBook. However, one glance at my cable modem, and I realized that my Internet connection was down altogether. Not even my trusty old Dell could get me out of this jam!

It's bad enough that the same thing happened only a month ago, but now it happened during Leon's show. I was afraid that without me there to moderate the chatroom, there would be complete anarchy. People would be using CAPS left and right. People would be saying things like "poop" and "porn."

My God! People would be discussing politics!

Furthermore, one of my responsibilies is to keep a log of the chatroom and post it to Leon's site after the show. With my Internet connection down, there was no way for me to capture the logs, and a piece of Internet history would be lost forever. Not only that, but I do not like to let Leon down.

I was furious. I picked up the phone and called my cable company immediately. I had them on speed dial just for an event like this.

After waiting on hold for fourteen minutes, a service rep answered. I'll spare you the gory details, but the service rep confirmed that there was a cable outtage in my area, and that technicians had been dispatched to look into the problem.

I yelled, "I need my connection back now! I was in the middle of working on something very important!"

She assured me that my service would be restored "as soon as humanly possible." I told her that I expected to be compensated for my downtime. She told me that they would be happy to reimburse me for my downtime, and asked me to call back once my service is restored to ask for a credit.

I told her that I didn't want to wait on hold and demanded that she give me her phone number so I could call her directly. She claimed that she was not allowed to give out that information, and told me that any service rep would be able to process a credit for me, but that I would have to call their main number. I told her that I was seriously considering switching to another ISP and I hung up the phone.

Then I cried my eyes out.

Why does this stuff always happen to me? Why did it have to happen now? Why does God hate me so much? Why?! Why?!

I sat there drying my eyes out and staring at my cable modem for the next hour and a half. Finally, the indicator lights on my modem started flashing, letting me know that my Internet connection had been restored. I got back into the chatroom immediately, with an hour of the radio show left to go. There was nothing I could do about the chat logs. I had missed half the show, and saw little point in posting incomplete logs. I felt like a complete failure.

Once the show was over, I delivered the bad news to Leon, letting him know that there would be no chat logs for today's show. He said "no prob." Then one of the regular chatters, who goes by the name of "Dustbin," said he was keeping the log for the show, and offered to send it to me. I was so grateful you have no idea. I was so happy I almost started crying again.

Dustbin: I could kiss you!

While I waited for Dustbin to send me the chat log, I called my cable company to get my credit for the downtime. After waiting on hold for ten minutes, I got a service rep on the phone. Of course, it wasn't the same service rep that I spoke to earlier, so I had to explain the whole situation from the beginning. The service rep verified that there was an outtage in my area, and said that he had submitted a request to have my account credited. I asked him if he could tell me how much the credit would be.

He said, "Sure, let's see. The downtime was one hour and twenty-seven minutes, so your credit comes to, ummmmmmm, ten cents."

I said, "Ten cents! This call is costing me more than ten cents!"

The service rep said, "Unfortunately, things sometimes work out that way."

Why did I even bother calling them back?

If this happens again tomorrow, I swear that I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.
- Bernie  ¶ 6:26 PM 0 comments

It Pays To Complain I had to do some grocery shopping after work today. I knew I wouldn't be up to cooking dinner after working all day and shopping for groceries, so I decided to stop by and grab something to eat at the local diner before going to the supermarket.

I ordered the prime rib dinner. The steaks at this diner are really good. At least, they used to be.

When the dinner arrived, the steak was so thin that it looked like a slice of roast beef lying on the plate. I've been going to this diner for years, and I know the manager by name. I called the waitress over and asked her about the steak. She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot, then she leaned closer to me and whispered, "It is a little thin, isn't it? Would you like me to take it back?"

I was in a hurry to get my grocery shopping done, and I didn't want to wait for them to cook another meal. However, I did want to voice my concerns to the manager. I said, No, but can you send Mario out here? I gotta bust his chops."

The waitress said, "Mario retired. He sold the business to his son."

"Oh, that explains it then. What's his son's name, then?" I asked.

"His son's name is also Mario," she said.

"OK, in that case, I said, "can you send 'also' Mario out here?" I rolled my eyes.

"You got it, sir," she chuckled.

A minute later, also Mario shows up. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?" he asked.

I explained to also Mario that I had been coming to his dad's diner for years, and have usually been very happy with the steaks. I let him know that I was disappointed that the prime rib was so thin.

'Also' Mario apologized and said that he had tried out a different supplier, and said he was disappointed with the cuts of meat that he got from them as well (or should I say 'also'?)

"I'm going to go back to ordering from our old supplier, so this shouldn't happen again," he said. "I'll be happy to take back the steak and make you something else, if you like."

I told him that wouldn't be necessary. I said I was in a hurry.

He said, "Can I get you a slice of apple pie on the house? It was made fresh this afternoon."

"Apple pie," I exclaimed. "Now you're talking. Sure."

"I'll let your waitress know," he said.

I said, "Thanks." Then I added, "Good luck with your business."

Mario smiled and said "Thank you. I hope to see you again." I felt a little silly compaining and wishing him luck in the same conversation, but I think that also Mario did a pretty good job addressing my concern.

When I finished my meal, the waitress brought me a slice of apple pie as promised. I was going to take a picture of it with my camera phone, but once the smell of that pie hit my nostrils, I dug right in and inhaled that thing. It was like a choir of angels singing on my tounge. As you can see, I took a picture of the aftermath.

Darn good pie!
- Bernie  ¶ 5:15 PM 0 comments

Woomba I have nothing original to say to you today, so I thought I might use a little copywritten material as filler. This is pretty funny. It's from Saturday Night Live. Enjoy it until the powers that be make YouTube.com remove it.

  ¶ 10:18 PM 0 comments

After you! I was headed back into the building I work in after lunch today, when I bumped into Frank, who was also returning from lunch. Frank is a pretty cool guy. Unfortunately, I think we got off on the wrong foot back in April when I was having car trouble. Frank was nice enough to give me a couple of rides, but I quickly wore out my welcome for some reason and he pawned me off on Howie. Now that my car is working again, I thought I could engage in a little idle chit-chat with Frank without irritating him.

"How's it going, Frank?' I asked.

"That all depends," said Frank. "How's your car?"

I laughed. "My car is fine. Thanks for asking," I said.

"In that case, things are good," Frank smiled.

As we approached the banks of elevators in the lobby, I saw something that made me smile. "It's nice to see that chivalry is not dead," I said to Frank.

"What?" said Frank

I said, "That group that just got on an elevator ahead of us, one of the men said, 'After you,' to the women, to let them get on the elevator first. It's nice to see that in this day and age that there are still some gentlemen in the world."

"That has nothing to do with being a gentleman," said Frank. "It's so the men can check out the womens asses as they enter the elevator."

I chuckled. "Do you really think so?" I asked.

"Of course," said Frank.

"Huh," I said. "Interesting."

Our elevator arrived a few seconds later. When the elevator door opened, I turned to Frank and said, "After you." He gave me such a look of confusion and disgust that I had to laugh.

Then he got on the elevator......walking backwards.

Ha ha.
- Bernie  ¶ 7:34 PM 0 comments

Clippety-Clop I was walking down the hallway at my job today. Directly behind me was a group of women. Every one of them was wearing high heeled shoes. I was trying to think about how best to manage my afternoon tasks, but the clippety-clop of the high heels on the ceramic floor tiles was distracting me. It sounded just like a team of horses trotting at my heels.

Clippety-clop.

Clippety-clop.

Why couldn't the hallway be carpeted?

Clippety-clop.

Clippety-clop.

They seemed to be getting closer...

Clippety-clop.

Clippety-clop.

...and closer.

Clippety-clop.

Clippety-clop.

I got the feeling I was about to be trampled.

Clippety-clop.

Clippety-clop.

Not able to take it for another second, I turned around, glared at the women, and neighed like a horse. They stopped in their tracks and looked at me like I was crazy.

Hey, but at least the clippety-clop stopped!

I turned and continued on my way. The horses did not pursue me.

Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay!
- Bernie  ¶ 4:23 PM 0 comments

Mission: Impossible Soon after getting home from work today, I noticed a fly had gotten into my place and was zooming around the livingroom. I knew my dad had a pair of battery-powered bug zappers that look like toy tennis rackets, but I wasn't sure where he kept them, so I gave him a call.

"Dad, do you know where you put those bug zappers?" I asked.

"I think they're here in the trailer. You need them?" my dad asked.

"Yeah. There's a fly in the house," I responded.

"A house fly, huh? I'll be right over," and he hung up the phone.

Minutes later, my dad walked through the front door holding two yellow plastic undersized tennis rackets. Handing one of the rackets to me, my dad said, "Let's get this bitch."

My dad has a belly that strongly resembles a beer keg. Rumor has it that you can connect a tap to his navel and drink for days. However, when it comes to killing insects, he's like a highly trained assassin. I couldn't imagine having a better agent on my team.

I pulled up iTunes on my Dell and put on the Mission Impossible theme song to set the mood. I chose the Junior's Hard Mix version by U2's Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen. The mix is eight minutes and fifty-one seconds long. My hope was that the mission would be completed well before the song was over.

As it turns out, I had greatly underestimated the fly.

We each switched on our tennis racket/bug zappers and the hunt was on. Taking my father's lead, I moved slowly though the livingroom, visually scanning the area for a sign of the fly.

After a moment, I see the fly land on the shade on one of my floor lamps. I lunge at it, swatting the lamp shade. This sent the lamp tumbling against the curtains, knocking the curtain rods out of place and sending the curtains falling to the floor. Then I see the fly zip across the living room, as if to say, "You can't catch me!"

"Don't forget: these suckers are electrical," my dad says, referring to the bug zappers. "There's no need for brute force. Just try to tap him while he's in mid-flight."

My dad squats down to pick up the curtains. As he starts to lift them, I see the fly buzzing around just behind his head.

"Don't move, dad," I said.

As I brought down the bug zapper towards my dad's head, he spun around, held out his hand, and yelled, "No! Wait!" The bug zapper hit his hand and he yelled, "Argh!" He pulled back his hand in pain.

"Are you all right, dad?" I asked.

After examining his hand he said, "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just watch it."

"OK dad, sorry," I said.

My dad put the curtain rod back on its holder, and we resumed the hunt. We each took up positions on opposite sides of the livingroom, slowly circling the perimeter looking for the fly. Over the next few minutes, we spotted the fly several times, but it quickly vanished before we could spring into action.

As the Mission Impossible theme song was coming to an end, both of us spot the fly zooming through the living room at the same time. We each swing at the fly. Our tennis rackets hit one another, but we missed the fly.

At that very moment, my mother entered the house, swinging the front door wide open. "What are you boys up to?" she asks. "I saw the curatins fall down."

The fly charged straight towards my mother. She saw it, raised one hand, and said, "Shoo!" Startled by my mother, the fly swerved around her and flew outside through the open door just before she closed it behind her.

My dad and I looked at each other dumbfounded. In one swift ninja-like move, my mother had gotten rid of the fly. My dad and I fell to our knees, raised our arms, and bowed in mock praise saying, "We are not worthy!"

My moms says, "I married a fool and gave birth to a fool," then she turned around, and left through the door she had just come though.

My dad and I burst out laughing.

Once the laughter subsided, my dad walks up to me with a smile on his face and says, "Hold out your hand." I hold out my hand, expecting him to "give me some skin" for a mission accomplished. Instead, he smacks my hand with the bug zapper.

"Ouch!" I yell. "That stung!"

"You're damn right it did," my dad says. Then he headed back to the trailer.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:54 PM 0 comments

Bernie Elliot It has been a pretty slow weekend. I got my replacement MagSafe power adapter from Apple on Thursday, as promised. So far, the MacBook seems to be working just fine, and has shown no signs of spontaneous combustion. Just to play it safe, I'm going to keep it plugged in a surge protector, and when I leave the house, I'll unplug it altogether.

The wrist guards I got are definitely helping me to avoid getting scratched on the MacBook's sharp edges, but they make me feel like a ballet dancer in training. Every once in a while I get the urge to do a pirouette.

I did my usual weekend gig as an operator in the KFE chatroom. I had a little problem today with one troublemaker. He was banned on Saturday for using profanity, then tried signing on today using a different IP address. I banned him again. He came right back with another IP address. This went on for quite some time. It took me about twenty tries, but I finally managed to ban him along with a large chunk of the Western hemisphere. Actually, that's a bit of an exaggeration. All I did was ban his ISP. I hope there aren't any other Leon fans on that ISP, and if there are: too bad. Hey, it's not my fault this guy's momma didn't raise him right!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go practice my plier (that's French, vous savez?).
- Bernie  ¶ 6:22 PM 0 comments

649 Oh, man, you are going to love this! I pulled off the most awesome prank in an IRC chatroom yesterday.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the term, "IRC," it stands for "Internet Relay Chat" and it's one of the oldest forms of chat on the web. These days, it has pretty much become a refuge for geeks like me. I've been chatting on IRC for years.

There is this chatroom that I used to hang out in a lot which I prefer not to mention by name. A few months ago, I decided to stop going there. Maybe I'll tell you more about that one day, but suffice it to say that I felt that I was no longer wanted there. It wasn't the first time that I quit going to the chatroom, but this time, I really meant it.

Anyway, yesterday I decided to go back into the chatroom, but I was going to go incognito. The people in this chatroom know me as "Bernie_M," but yesterday, I signed in as "Listener_649."

The chatroom is associated with a radio show, and the chat client they use on their website defaults to a name like "Listener_XXX" if you don't enter a nickname, or "nick," for short. When you see someone with a nick like that, you know you're looking at a new user, or "newb." So I entered the chatroom cleverly disguised as a newb. How awesome is that? I swear, I am so freakin' l33t. Ha ha!

When I first logged on, I was just like "hi, what's up?," you know, keeping it cool. People are like "Welcome, Listener_649." It was so funny! They actually thought I was some newbie! They had no clue that it was me! Ha ha!

I just wanted to lurk a bit and be a fly on the wall, but people started asking me a lot of questions. Some people in this chatroom have a tendancy to mess around with newbs, and I started getting the idea that my nick was drawing more attention than I wanted. In order to become less conspicuous, I changed my nick to "Six_Forty_Nine." Now, I was really under the radar. I am a master of disguse! Ha ha!

Then I just chatted for a bit, being careful not to say anything that would tip anybody off to my true identity. I think one person may have suspected something, because he asked, "Hey Six_Forty_Nine, how's your roomba doing?"

But I was too smart for him.

I said, "What's a roomba?" How's that for quick thinking? Ha ha!

And yet, this guy kept at me. He's like, "Bernie_M" this and "Bernie_M" that. I just played dumb. I told him he must be mistaking me for somebody else. When he continued to press the point, I just told him that he sounds obsessed with this Bernie_M guy and made a joke insinuating that he had a crush on him. I wish I could have seen the look on his face when I said that! I was totally pwning this guy. Ha ha!

After a while, I got bored and logged out of the chatroom.

OK, so maybe that wasn't a prank, per se, but still, wasn't that great?

Wasn't it?
- Bernie  ¶ 4:04 PM 3 comments

Invasion of the Bernie Snatchers Last night I did something a little crazy that I may live to regret. If you read yesterday's post, you know that I burned my mouth on hot tomato soup and hot water. While I know my mother wouldn't approve, I had a bowl of ice cream for dinner in an attempt to sooth the pain in my mouth. It helped, but only temporarily.

After dinner, a heavy thunderstorm passed through the area, and rain poured down in buckets. On an impluse, I went outside in the pouring rain and turned my open mouth to the sky. I got soaked right down to my underpants, but the cool rain felt good. After several minutes, I went back inside and changed into dry clothes.

Today, at work, I read an article on CNN.com that has me a little concened. It seems that a red rain fell in Kerala, India in the summer of 2001. It was discovered that the rainwater contained microscopic red cells that possess unusual properties. A physicist by the name of Godfrey Louis has hypothesized that the mysterious red cells might be aliens.

Although last night's rain did not appear to be red, I can't help but wondering: are there aliens among us, and did I swallow any last night? If I did swallow aliens, what will happen to me? Will I die as a result, or will my body be snatched by an alien intelligence in an effort to destroy the human race?

Or am I just being paranoid?
- Bernie  ¶ 4:55 PM 0 comments

Argh, Soup! I'm going to make it very brief today because I'm in pain and I just want to lie down on the couch and whimper for a while.

I brown-bagged my lunch today. I brought half a ham and cheese sandwich and a can of tomato soup to work. We have an employee lounge with a table and chairs, a microwave, and a sink. I went in there on my lunch break. A couple of other people were already in there having lunch.

I opened the can of soup, poured it into a bowl that I also brought from home, and mixed in some water. Then I popped it in the microwave to heat it up while I unwrapped the half sandwich from it's cellophane.

Three minutes later, the microwave goes "ding!" I carefully removed the now steaming bowl of soup from the microwave, put in on the table next to my sandwich, and sat down. In retrospect, I guess I should have waited a while for the soup to cool down, but I love tomato soup, and I took out my soup spoon and dug right in. I then filled my mouth with a heaping spoonful of tomato soup that, as it turned out, was just a few degrees Fahrenheit short of molten lava. Several layers of flesh on the tip of my tongue and on the inside of my cheeks were seared off in one quick horrifying second. My eyes bulged out of my head in pain. I plunged half of my half sandwich into my mouth in an attempt to soak up the hot liquid. The pain barely subsided.

I shot up out of my chair, ran to the sink, wrapped my mouth around the spout, and turned on the faucet. Now, can somebody explain to me why there is no standard regarding which side of the spout hot and cold faucets go? At my house, cold is on the right. It's what I'm used to. But no, not at work! At work, hot is on the right. I inadvertantly filled my already burning mouth with scolding hot water! I reeled back from the sink in pain, with tomato soup, hot water, and a half-chewed sandwich flowing from my opened mouth, drenching my chin, neck, and shirt.

The other people eating their lunch were both covering their mouths trying to fight back laughter. Why is it that people find enjoyment in the pain of others? I shot them an angry glare. Then I turned the sink's other faucet, put my hand under the spout to make sure it was cold, then filled my mouth with cold water. The pain subsided, but the damage was done.

I cleaned myself up as best I could using soap and water and some paper towels. I spent the rest of the day working in a shirt that looked like I puked on it while picking bits of dead flesh from the inside of my mouth.

OK, that's it. I gotta lie down now. Maybe I'll have something cold for dinner, like ice cream.

I'm off tomato soup for a while now.
- Bernie  ¶ 5:31 PM 0 comments