zen's journal

How many of you reading this have ever hear of the Funk Brothers? Well, it seems that most everyone raising their hands is from Detroit, home of Motown.
Their documentary, which I have a dvd of, entitled "Standing in the Shadows of Motown." Tells their story. On the cover it says:

"They played on more #1 records than the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley combined.

It is fair and accurate to say that they created the "Motown Sound."
People have heard of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Gladyss Night (and the Pips), Dianna Ross and the Supremes, Mary Wilson, Marvin Gaye, and many more Motown legends, but noone knows anything about Funk Brothers; and that is too bad. There are 3 surviving original members: Bob Babbitt (bass), Eddie 'Chank' Willis (lead), Joe Hunter (keys). The other 12 or so on the stage have been with this touring ensamble for various lengths of time.

Here's the set list:
You Can't Hurry Love
Aint' too Proud to beg
Losing You
Neither One of Us
Heat Wave
Baby, Baby
Dancing in the Streets
What Becomes of a Broken Heart (a particularly moving version)
You're All I need
My Girl -- which went into a Funk Bros. groove where the vocalist actually came out into the audience to have us sing the words "A funk Brother party is a party like none other cause a Funk Brother Party is a party that never stops" Intense!
Rock Me a Little While
Stop in the Name of Love
Pride and Joy
What's Going On
Your Love
Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Encore:
Shotgun

Ok, I think that everyone has heard of at least a few of these songs, and it's more than likely that most people have heard of most of them, and can sing along. Anyone growing up in the 60s and 70s would know most of these songs. And that's just the tip of the iceburg of their hits.
Well, the band that wrote and recorded all those hits played last night at the Garde Arts Theatre.

I'd been wanting to see them play live after watching "Standing in the Shadows," where they reported that the most recent incarnation of the band was touring. I dismissed the notion of ever being able to see them live.
About a year after I saw the movie, I heard an promotion for The Stephen Talkhouse 161 Main Street, Amagansett, NY 11930. In July, I believe, Talkhouse was hosting a night with Funk Brothers. I couldn't believe it!!
I was disappointed when I couldn't make that show.
I put it out of my mind, again, as a long shot of ever seeing them.
I wasn't disappointed for long. Last week's Day(the local paper), featured a colour picture of Funk Bros. on the cover of Daybreak section. They were playing this Friday, and I was getting paid that day. There was absolutely no way I was missing this show.
My roommate, having connections in town was able to let these tickets for less than half the $34.00 seat price; two cost us $29.00. We were in row 4. That's 4 seats away from the stage, on the aisle. This was too good to be true. I think that I must've done something seriously right in a past life--I was in heaven.

The Garde Arts Theatre is an incredible story. I saw Max Creek there in 1980-something. The show was great, but the Theatre, like much of New London was simply run-down and decayed. It is one of the last two remaining theatres surving from the vaudville days. There were 5 in town at one point. The Capitol, on Bank Street, and The Garde on State Street are the last holdouts. Unfortunately, age has been particularly unkind to The Capitol, and without political will to restore it properly, it will continue to decay a slow, cruel death.

Brought back to better than new, in my opinion, the restoration of The Garde was a monumental task. I don't think that anyone talking about a show at the Garde can tell the true story of the show without mentioning something of the facility's renovation. It's been about 75% redone. It was a massive undertaking. Most of the cost was covered by community support, which is a truly beautiful thing.
It has been renovated aesthetically to represent a middle eastern theme, which mirrors the original look. It is a very comforting, warming, welcoming place. The seats are roomy, and comfortable. The attention to detail is incredible. Lots of gold gild is used. There are two murals in the anti room, facing each other, of mediterranean nights; like something realized from Ali Baba and the 100 theives, or Alladin, or an Indiana Jones movie.
In 1998, I had to perform 40 hours of community service. Like many others that situation, I worked long hours, late at night to get the Theatre ready for its big Grand opening around Christmas. Once my hours were done, I signed on to work there, like a few others had done. I was invited to the staff holiday party, ostensibly to help set-up, and keep everything supplied. It was a celebration and dedication for all the local bigshot donors. By the end of the night, the only one working was the bartender. The vice-president of the head contractor, was dancing with the wife of the donator who accepted the plaque for one of the commercial banks. That night was something that I was truly honoured to have been a full part of, and I wasn't even drinking~go figure.
The first show I worked as a stagehand was Art Garfunkle. He was being a prick, and almost cancled the show because he thought that the Theatre wasn't done enough for his satisfaction--I think he had a problem with something in his dressing room.
I was there at the end. I saw how all the decorations, accessories and finishing touches were applied. It was quite an eye-opening experience working on a site as big as theatre. It encompases the greater part of a city block, with the totality of its offices and outreach buildings. A number of those were in varying states of repair at that point.

I looked around. This was my first time back here in about 5 years; the last time I worked there. It brought back a flood of memories. Some whatever, but most were just plain good memories. I loved working there. I still know a few of the excellent crew that works there.

I take the aisle seat. I have room to move. I'm sitting no more that 5 minutes, and the emcee, Steve Seigel comes out. He thanks the community for their support. He introduces the band.
The lights go out.
The narrator from Standing in the Shadows introduces the band, by paying homage to their accomplishments. They are many. In the dark, the band takes the stage. This band maybe the greatest top forty band you've never heard of.
There's 3 vocalists (1 Male, 2 females); 3 drummers, 3 horns, 1 bassist, 1 rhythm, 1 lead, a keyboardist, and 1 on vibes.

Instantly, you recognise the first chords. The sound is full, and fat, and rich and immediately addictive. This band is a legend. I'm honoured to be here. I'm so entranced, I forget to write down the set list. I manage to sing my way through the first two songs, but can't remember what they were.
I start writing song names at You Can't Hurry Love.
I manage to stay put for most of the show. I'm lost in the chords and rhythms played in the most clear, and concise way. Music is never more pure than when heard live, in near perfect acoustics.
The highlight of the show is when the band played My Girl. He said "we're going to do this Funk Brothers Style." After the second chorus and refrain, the band starts jamming. The male vocalist comes out into the audience. He's walking in the right aisle, pointing the mic in people's faces. He makes them sing: "A Funk Brothers party is a party like none other cause a Funk Brothers party is a party that never ends."
The spot light follows him as he goes, door to door, mouth to mouth, amplifying these very weak and lame voices completely afraid to sing out loud.
At this point all I kept thinking was: God, I hope he doesn't come over to this side." One brave soul sang out and sounded like he meant it. We all cheered. The vocalist went back on stage, they closed out the jam, with the last verse and chorus of My Girl. That was rockin.

Three songs later, during Pride and Joy, I got up to use the can. I bought a quick beer and downed it in the men's room. I was making my way back, and saw one of the guys I used to work with, and said Hi. He's the Head Tech guy, and was standing next to the mixing board in the back of the house.
While I was watching the soundman at the board, the male vocalist introduced the band.
Of course I wasn't writing anything at that point. I was watching the soundboard. I was watching the laptop computer recording the show. It was using Vegas 4.0. The flashing lights fascinated me. I was watching as the meters peak as loud notes were hit. I was transfixed.

For an encore, they performed Shotgun. By that point about half the house was on their feet. The old white guys sat, but their daughters and granddaughters were very much dancing.
There was one girl on the other end of the aisle that I kept watching. She was really cute, and dressed in a really cool style. My guess was that she was about 20. I watched her out of one eye for most of the show. She was really getting into the whole sound. She danced like a champ.

I was looking for her after the show, but of course I didn't see her. I walked with my roommate, and we ran into friends.
We talked for a little bit, and I told him that I was going to be home soon. I wanted to go downtown for a lil bit.
That's exactly what I did. I went downtown. I met some friends of mine at the Oasis.
They were having a live band: Matthias Steel. This was going to be no Motown revue. This was local heavy metal. Going from what I'd been to earlier, to THIS, well, my ears kinda cringed. I payed the three dollar cover and went in.
I see "Kenny." I buy him a drink. I see "Lenny" after we order the next round. We start talking about Myspace.com. There's lots of local girls on it.
The band is loud. The acoustics are terrible. Not nearly enough people. It's about 11 pm on a Friday, and there's noone there. They'll be coming in soon, I'm thinking. People start coming in.

At about 12 I've heard enough. Not even the roaming lead guitarist, playing from the opposite side of the bar, can convince us to stay. We go to The Brass Rail. In my opinion, the club definitely improved once the started flying The Flag out front; I don't care what the local riff-raff says. It would seem this is where everyone is. There's a decent crowd, but it's not crowded. We get our drinks and move to the back deck.
Boom! Who should I see, but that girl I kept staring at all night! The good news is that she was drinking. The bad news was that she was with her mom.
Yes, the girl I was stare stalking was being excorted by mom. Yikes!
I strike up the first tones of conversation. I say I saw her at the show.
"How did you like it?"
"Oh it was really good." Her voice is soft, and warm, but there's a dash of impatience there.
I introduce myself, she introduces herself. Kenny and Lenny introduce themselves. Kenny starts talking to the mom. I'm talking to the daughter. Lenny comes over, and joins in. I actually welcome him, because he's got a great gift of gab--the fact that chicks think he's cute doesn't hurt.

She doesn't stay long. I realize that I'm much older than her. I've got to be close to her mom's age. Kenny is still talking to her. I go to leave to get another drink.
At some point a dj with a small sampling machine with club beats starts playing his machine. About 20 people are dancing and grooving and moving. Half are females. I jump in, but I'm so big, and too drunk. I'm not nimble. She's in the crowd, but I can't get near her to dance with her.
I feel clumbsy, and realize that I just don't know how to dance at a rave, because this is essentially what's happened. I just can't get into it, but she can. As she's dressed, she becomes invisible into the scene.

I find no trace of Kenny or Lenny. We were going to get high, but since I have the herb, I guess that won't happen.
I decide to leave, and hit the last bar on the strip. At about 1 am I make my way to Club 251, the gay bar. I am truly drunk, but I still get served. There's a few friends in here, but I'm in no condition to be neuanced. I tell my old friend that I think he's cute, and I always have. I smiles. Puts his hand on my arm. He's reassuring.
"You're drunk," he says. He's right.
I'm feeling claustrophobic. The room is on the verge of spinning. I'm going to be sick if I keep drinking. I have to leave. I put my half full beer on the counter, and stagger out to the sidewalk. It's chilly. I button up my coat, and start walking over to The Quikee Mart.
I order the last of the jo-jos, 8 of them, and a large piece of chicken. I get the bar-b-q dipping sauce. I stumble another 1000 feet, up the embankment to the train tracks. I lean against the big rock at the base of one of the power poles. I finish half the jojos, and pass out.

About 40 minutes later I wake up. Leaving the rest of the chicken there, I stumble back to my car.
I slept for a while, sobering up before driving home. Overall, it was a great night. Noone got hurt, or arrested, and I saw a great show. I would highly recommend them. The other bands I heard that night--now that's a diferent story.

This post was edited by zen on Nov 11, 2005.

(names haven't been changed to protect the innocent)

01 Nov 05, New Haven, CT. 10:05 am.
The 341, a.k.a. The First Creditors', meeting was scheduled to start at 9:30am. Officially, I'm late, but my Trustee, Roberta, is herself running late.
I wait in the hallway with about a dozen poor souls waiting for their 341. A paralegal, who's obviously had previous (somewhat detailed) contact with about two-thirds of the people, comes out from Room 3 carries a huge box of files. She squats down, strattling the box. She starts rummaging through folders looking for paperwork. I look down at her, spread eagle. I wished I had papers to be filed. She says more than once that we have to go in with our license and social security card.
Ah, i think. I'm hit.
I didn't bring a social security card with me. I resist my initial instinct, and don't ask her what I should do if I don't have a soc.sec. card with me. I perhaps think that I'm special, and this rule won't apply to me. I go over my letter from the trustee, and it doesn't say anything about identification. The paralegal told all these guys beforehand that they'de need it.
Roberta herds half of us into hearing room 2. I get called first. She's recording the proceedings. I confess I have no social security card, nor ANYTHING that has my soc.sec.no. printed on it. She can't proceed without the soc.sec.no. She tells me that there's a Federal Courthouse on Orange Street, two blocks over.
The Social Security Office, GREAT!! Another branch of our government I'll by greeting today.

Generally speaking, the day started well enough. I got out of the house, gassed up and actually rolling on the highway before 7:30 am. I managed to get from East Lyme to Branford in about 30 minutes. This is 40 miles in 30 minutes. That is good time. Well, I knew that this was going to be rush hour going into New Haven, and that most wonderful of CT bridges, The Q. What I wasn't actually prepared for was the fact that 8 miles of highway would take another 40 minutes. Wow!
I do so little of that driving, that it hits full force once seeing that long snaketail of taillights stretching out in along the highway for as far as the eye can see.
Getting off the highway, at exit 48, Downtown, my car lurched and I was losing power. I knew what that meant. It's dangerously low on oil. It's 8:52. I'm thinking that this important meeting starts at 9 a.m. I'm surprisingly calm. Thank Vishnu we're all going so slow. I dump in 3 quarts. It starts up without problem. This stop-n-go is killing both me and my car.

9:05 am I sign in on the visitors list at the front gate, get my sticker and hit the elevator. 9:06 am I'm at the metal detectors on the 18th floor in front of the Bankruptcy Office. I tell the Marshall that I'm here for my 341.
He tells me "don't bother to take out anything else, you're not staying."
Then he asks for my paperwork. I show him. The meeting is at 265 Church. I'm now at 157 Church. It starts at 9:30.
Perfect, I think. I can sign my papers to amend my petition, and I'm outta here with the quickness, I'm thinking.
Yeah right.
Keith did forget about me. I sat there for half an hour, waiting for him to make one copy of two forms, my schedules I and J. I filed those at a different time from the other 50 pages I'd sent in three weeks earlier.
To make them legal I was supposed to sign the bottom of the forms; yes, and write AMENDED on the top. All of this should have taken 5 minutes, as a very conservative estimate. In half an hour I saw his face for 2 seconds as he tells me, "I didn't forget you."
Yeah right. Keith forgot me.
The pisser of it is that all the time I was sitting there, I was looking at the copier in the lobby. I have change in my pocket, I was thinking. I just kept looking at the copier, asking myself, why didn't I just ask to see those papers, and make the copies myself?
At 9:38, I told Kenny, who was manning the cubicle closest to the counter, that I couldn't stay.
"I have my 341 and it's starting now. Please tell the other guy that I had to leave, and I'll be back after my meeting."
"Yeah, I don't know what happened to him."
"He forgot me."
"Yeah, looks like it."
Forget him.

I get back in my car, drive down about 15 blocks, which was 3 blocks too far. I didn't feed the meter. I walked down to Bruggerman's Bagels, which served me one of the best cups of coffee that I've had in quite a while. No one can tell me where 265 Church is.
Church Street just kinda ends suddenly. From Church it blends into Whitney street. The road takes a slight jog to the right, so that's where it ends. After consulting a local, I'm told that the building is almost dead ahead, at the end of Church. It's in the Fleet tower building, floor 11.
I'm not late. That's good, I think.

15 minutes later, I'm out the front doors again, back 3 blocks to get me car. Good decision not to feed the meter.
I'm looking for a federal building, the Federal Courthouse on Orange Street. For a building that was literally 2 blocks away, I had a fucking brilliantly difficult time finding the actual entrance to this fucking building.

A Note on driving in the city: watch the signs carefully. That's the best way to avoid driving the wrong way down a one way. And, like most if not all cities, it has many of them. It was starting to drive me a little batty hitting all the one ways. Eventually I'm sure I'd be used to them if I lived here. It's even more likely, though, that I'd adhere to rule 2:
Ride, don't drive. I would ride my bike everywhere.
In fact, I was a little sad that I didn't have my lifeboat with me. My lifeboat is what I call my little single gear bmx bike. I took it out of the back of my car cause I was chauffering my nieces and nephew to church with my mom. Especially cause I have the fluid leak, I like the reassurence that the alternate means of travel provides.

After driving for 15 or 20 minutes, with growing frustration, I settle on the very next available parking space, one block behind the Fleet Tower, and 2 blocks away from my eventual destination. But do I take the short route? Of course not.
First up one block to the City Courthouse. Wrong courthouse. A local tells me that it's at Town Hall, ONLY 2 blocks back, 2 doors down from the Bankruptcy building.
Two city blocks are not small. I live 2 city blocks away from the water. Growing up, I've never broken up distances into blocks.
I pick-up my keys and coins, yet again, and thank the local for his trouble.
The guard at town hall tells me, "go through to the next street. Look for the post office, and it's on the third floor."
Simple, I'm thinking.
NOT.
The building is under construction. The regular door way is closed off, and there's no signs in the front. The only thing that you see is the artist's rendering of what the new building will look like, with its expectedly clean lines, and flowing strokes. On top of that, is the only sign __ Federal Building. The site looks like the aftereffects of a hurricane, cordoned-off and everything.
I find the third floor. I take a number: 82. They're on 74. Now I can finally use the toilet.
I get back they're on 77. This is a good thing.
After some brainstorming, the case worker printed up a pebes printout. The pebes printout is cool cause it tells you what you made in any given year since you started working. It was the only thing SS would give me.

It's now 11am. I walk the two blocks over to Fleet Tower. By now my feet are killing me, because I'm wearing my dress loafers. I'm actually wearing a tie, and my Greek fisherman's cap. I look very cosmopolitan.
I walk back to the 341 meeting. The room is now full. I spot the one unused seat at the end of the table. I sit, take off my hat. I start writing in my journal. Last thing I wrote in it was about the pebes paper, and she calls me.
She's recording.
I state my name and address, and swear that I'll tell the trooth, and then I'm seated.
Most of the 32 questions I answered with no. I didn't declare a hospital bill which I incurred after filing the petition. I don't own any property, nor am i holding any for anyone else, nor do i have real property like land, or a farm; nor have i sold anything for more than $500; and on it went.
She asks if there's anyone present to lodge an objection. It was a tense 10 seconds.
She records that no one objected, and that mine is a no asset bankruptcy.
I get to keep my cameras and stereo equiptment and computer stuff. On the Chapter 7 petition I had to declare all that great stuff. I listed it as an attempt at a video-editing business.

"That's it," Roberta says.
"That's it?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Now what?"
"In approximately 60 days the court the court will send you a notification that your debts are discharged."
I look at her soft neck. I wish I could give her a big soft, sensual kiss on her neck. I wonder if she ever gets time to go out and enjoy herself. I thank her.
And just like that, close to $20K in debt is wiped away. About 90% of it is credit card and other unsecured debt. Credit is such an incredible invention. It's an excellent way to make the poor even poorer. The pinnacle of capitalist thought, credit creates slavery. There's almost nothing that you can do in the developed nations if you don't have credit.
Essentially, I fried my credit rating for the next 7 to 10 years. That sucks.

I took a sigh of relief. I was looking for a place to eat before I realized that I still had to go back to the Bankruptcy Office, and hunt down Keith.
I spend another 20 minutes finding a spot in front of the CFC building. Back up to the 18th floor. Keith shows up shortly, and he has my copies. I sign and amend both copies. He repunches them. My paperwork is now complete.

Three more quarters in the meter. I'm going to walk around the city and find some coffee. I find King Falafel instead. I get the lamb shwarma sandwich. Fresh taboli and humus with a touch of garlic; it rocks. Apparently, i didn't realize I was starving. I still won't eat the raw onions though. I spit out a few as I walk through the park green, looking at the crew of Yale students grouped with cameras and recording equiptment. They are taping an interview. HOTS is the call letters. I'm not certain if it's mock, or real. The interviewer is wearing black, with a red turtleneck. Sytlish, and kinda cute, I think. He asks the other man, about a foot shorter than he, what the wierdest kind of ice cream he ever had. He spoke softly, and I couldn't hear what he said.
The host starts smiling, and I hear him say, "that is kinda wierd."
I sit on the bench and watch the pigeons. They move like a flock. They stop and start suddenly. They land all of the sudden, move a few feet as a group. Then again, as a group. Then swoon, and squirm, and they're gone. My sandwich is gone. It was wonderful. The raw onion is killing me. I need a soda. I get back to my car. 20 minutes left on the meter. I want a Bruggerman's coffee. I put oil in the engine, another quart; now I'm out.

There's no parking even remotely close. I don't want to fight for a parking space, just for a cup of coffee. I should've walked the three blocks, but my feet were killing me. I wished I had my lifeboat with me.

I take off my shoes, and just keep driving. I find the sign for I-95, and head home.
I love the city, but I love leaving even more. Even though I didn't get as much exploring done as I was hoping, I still can't be disappointed with the fullness of my trip.

This post was edited by zen on Nov 02, 2005.

Tuesdays and Sundays are now my days off. I actually really like that for the fact that I one work day inbetween two days off helps break-up the week into manageable chunks. But I get Sat night free, so it all evens out in the end.

Today was my first true day off, in quite a while. I did practically nothing, except watch 9 hours of "Arrested Development," the Ron Howard tv series.
I afinished the load of laundry that I started yesterday, so I'd have clean work clothes.
I managed to put away the clean dishes.
I made something to eat--times two, once for R.~ as well.
I posted here a few times. Also put out the garbage for tommorrow.
And walked Mr. Scrappy, my bassett.
And that's about it.

Normally I'm working on one or both of my days off, to get money. I just quit one of the side jobs, so now I get a true day off. I basically just rested, and planned spending the day in the house.
It was relaxing, to make an understatement.
I think the best thing of it is that I didn't feel like drinking today. I thought that it might be nice to hit the packy, and grab a cold one, but I just didn't feel up to getting in my car and driving the mile and a half to the packy. It seems that the only reason I have for drinking is to blow-off the residual stress from working. No work, no stress.

I get to stay-up late tonight, too. :) I don't have to be to work untill 1:30 in the afternoon.
But then that means I close, and Thursday I have to be in early. **sigh** well, nothing's perfect.

I'll worry about that tommorrow. For tonight, I'm going to watch Memento, smoke one, and go to sleep.

Bad Installations 101: what not to do, or...My Godam’puter
My [geek] Identity
by Zen P. Living-ground

There's an expression: "The painter's house needs painting, and the cobbler's children are barefoot." Well, the computer tech's machine is a piece. My Godam’puter is fucked. It really is a piece of crapola. I made it myself, thank you very much. No, it’s not only cause it runs Windows; although, oddly enough that is part of the reason why it sucks.

The story with the OS is that I bought an OEM copy of 2K on Ebay. The full install copy, still in the plastic--and to his credit the seller was correct--run me about $125. Not f****** bad I thought. Even payed for it via PayPal. At the time it was great. Well, upon installing it it stopped being so great. At first, the more programs I installed, the more bogged down and lithargic it became. Things didn’t work right, or at all.

The root of this problem was the “permissions.” Easy enough fix that seemed to clear that roadblock.
But there still remains this very annoying, warying problem of how the shortcuts don’t work. Most of the icons respond that there is no link, and what I’m requesting is quite impossible, that "[my_program].exe has generated errors and will be closed by Windows". Sometimes, I can go to the individual program folders and locate the .exe icons from there, relocating them to the desktop.
Sound confusing? Well, it’s quite simple, just a pain. And it doesn't always work.
More often, the program stops working. I use Sound Forge all the time; well, used to. I have to keep reinstalling, and uninstalling it. Then There’s the same problem with the Nero; which came with the DVD burner. Age of Empires, and other games won't work. Then there’s the bastard step child, MS Office, where powerpoint won’t work.

Normally, I could give a f*** about .PPT, but for the thorn in my side. I have 1 particular slideshow in .ppt that is well worth seeing. It is called “How Fast Must You Be Going...(In Order to do This??)"
As expected it's of a car wreck. But not one of those skimpy, sad, American Highway wrecks which would traditionally involve a drunk driver. No, this was one of those spectacular tragedies available only on the throughways of countries where the speed limit hovers near the speed where airplanes are raising their flaps for take-off.
In this filmstrip, it shows what is eventually recognized as an Audi; the Autobahn Edition to be sure. It quite literally exploded upon impact of the first tree, but not before permanently embedding the driver's door into the trunk. Therethen torn in two, the car, well, if one pictures 2 pinballs bouncing off the trees in this grove, then she will get a firm overstanding of how this car went through that blackest of forests. Perhaps not so amazingly, those 10 or so slides seem to convey conclusively the tacit response to that question: EXTREMELY fast.
And that is why Powerpoint is important.

For the others, even though Nero really, really sucks cause it won’t let you copy a copywrighted discs, the CD burner, and other features are pretty cool. It's a dam comprehensive set of software that comes with the MadDog Multimedia Burner. ((Hmmm...ain’t that a greeat name for a product: Maddog Burner...haha)) And hell, I can't live without Sound Forge, or the other programs I can't live without...my capture card, Photopaint, Premeire, etc.
...and I can't use them.

So of course, The problem is that this version of Windows is “optimized” for a computer much different from my own (and the 4 others I tested it on); none of them worked/works with this copy of the OS. Suffice to say, this is one of items that differs significantly from a defective blender. And, yet another example of why buying local is a much better idea. In fact, anyone upgrading their operating system should always let a trained professional do it. They say “it’s easy...” but I do NOT find that to be the case, and I’ve installed many operating systems. Envariably there’s always a problem. If you’re not trained, don’t let anyone tell you it’s easy.
With that said...
Caveat Emptor, I know, but this is only the tip of the iceburg where my machine, and this buyer, is concerned. The moral of the story can’t even be: don’t buy OEM OS software.

I guess the moral of this story is: trained professionals only. I have gotten paid for computer work, so I am somewhat professional. Point is, even professionals make mistakes, and have errors in judgement. I won't go into specifics, but I think that everyone can think of a mistake that some professional or another has done. We're only human.
--but I also think that

The other half of the equation is that I'm using a shitty motherboard. For those who don't know, the motherboard, also called a mainboard, is vital to the constant, continuous, consistent operation of one's computer.
Every single bit of data passes through the tiny, microns-thick ribbons of copper epoxied onto the silicone board. Singly, this one component has the most parts, and they almost all are soldered.
Look at the motherboard for a second. It has a North and South bridge. Each of those has so-called bridges are controlled by processors. Other functions like the memory has it's own processor that leads to the North bridge processor. There is another processor for the video, aka agp, port. Of course there are more, sucessively smaller, processors and registers all over nearly every single inch of that one board.
To my mind, the computer truly is a marvel. It is an amazing thing, especially considering the speeds of modern ones. However, these things have limited lives these days. The old ones were designed, literally forever, if it need be. The modern ones are built with a predetermined shelf life. My computer has outlived it's shelf life, and therefore it must be replaced.
However, I would be remiss as a writer and journalist, if I said that was the only reason for retiring this thing.

I'm using an Abit KR-7A(Raid), with an AMD Athlon 1900 XP+ central processor unit. It is now about 6 years old, and is no longer supported by the manufacturer. First I'll say that from the beginning, I've had nothing but problems with this board.
One of the reasons I picked it was for the on-board "r.a.i.d." Redundant Array (of) Inexpensive Disks is a configuration of 2 or more hard drives working as one single drive. The type of r.a.i.d. I was using was "striping." This is where the data is broken up onto pieces, or stripes, and written on to the drives alternately between the number 1 and the number 2 hard drive. I wanted the r.a.i.d. for use with my Pinnacle DV-500 video capture card. The raid function never seemed to work properly. I used it to stripe data, sure enough. Not one dropped frame. However, I lost all of the video capture that I did using the raid function.

About 3 or 4 years ago, I updated the BIOS. That seemed to make little to no change.
One of the problems is that when the power is disconnected, or if one turns it off at the switch in the back, it loses its settings in the CMOS. This means that it "forgets" all the BIOS settings, in addition to the r.a.i.d. settings. It then won't recognize the "stripes" on the drives. Once unplugged, all becomes lost, literally.

One of its problems is that the chipset cooler, the North bridge chipset, a fan, has been working sporatically. Even a brand new one, attached directly to the power supply still is working inconsistently. It has a little tiny heatsink, but the fan is what keeps it cool.
It's important to recognize different symptoms when diagnosing and troubleshooting a faulty computer. Sporatic, or infrequent problems are the hardest to fix. However, one of the simplest things to do when trying to fix a sporatic problem (sudden lock-ups, or shut-downs, etc.) is to open the back and give it a good vaccuuming. Even without opening it up, vaccuuming the air holes can usually help tremendously. Most people never think about it, but when your holes are stuffed up, air can't circulate, and therefore it traps heat. Also, dust can build up in the fans. This can stop them from working properly, and contributing to a high temperature.
Additionally, motherboard components, like the north bridge logic processor, a smaller, slower cpu will heat-up the same as the central processor. There for, cause it moves all the data between CPU and ramm and the hard drive, it heats up. It needs proper cooling. In if doesn't have that, it can mimic other problems like faulty ramm, or overheated cpu.
Extended heat over prolonged periods will damage the chip, irreparably.

There's no on-board sound. At the time I was using a great sound card, a Sound Blaster. Didn't need it. But as the Sound Blaster is such a pain to set-up, as it's the Audigy 1 card, media center, I just leave it out. So now it's just annoying.
It also didn't come with an onboard ethernet port. That I didn't figure I'd ever be using, but it would've been nice to have it.

I didn't actually order this thing. I did choose this specific model number, and had the person ordering it get it. This board, priced at about $135 at the time I got it, was purchased in exchange for work I did for a company in town, Starr Lite Computers.
I performed a bunch of work around the building, and outside. I put up lights in the windows, and did general maintenence. But at that point I was on probation, and it was strict. Due to a serious error in communication, there became a huge problem. Events snowballed, bad luck and timing overtook things, and it was decided that I have no further doings with the owner of the store. There was problems with my "continued involvement" with her. She was a convicted felon, on parole, and I was on probation, myself for a felony.
Her stupid words led to a world of trouble for her, and I both.
Cutting off dealings with her, we cleared the slate except for this board. That was the last outstanding thing. I had to tell them, a third party to call the owner and her partner, and have then drop ship the board to a separate location.
Weeks go by, and I don't hear from her or her partner. I'd just assume let it fricking die anyway, for all the trouble that it caused me.
Then out of the clear blue, about 3 months later I get a call from the partner. I always liked her cause she was cool, and absolutely trustworthy. The other, that fat slob, was a slug.
The partner calls me and asked if i ever got the motherboard. I said no. So she asked again which I wanted. I told her which one. So, in like 7 days, it arrived on my doorstep.
I was happy to get it. I loved it originally. But little did I realise that Abit sucks. They suck because even though it was warrenteed, I still couldn't return it cause I didn't buy it. Technically, it was resold by a company, and I had to bring it back to them, and have that company send it in on the warrenty.

But again, I can't have anymore dealing with this company. But it's not even due to that that I couldn't return the board to Starr Light. It was because the company is out of business.
Tamra, the partner, was telling me the story of what happened to her partner.
Apparently, being a thief by nature, and old habits dying hard, the woman embezzled monies from the till. She had been doing it probably since day one. Eventually T. finds out, and confronts the other one. The resolution is that she sign the business over to her. Unfortunately, the business didn't last more than 2 months after that.

Or maybe it's not Abit, the company. Perhaps this particular board is just cursed. I could believe it. I might seek to explain why it's seemingly impossible to install another OS on my machine, or to get it to do what it's supposed to do.
My ghost hates Windows. Almost be a funny thought if it weren't for my sad computer.

Been really busy working at two full time jobs, and taking a class in Modern Philosophies. I'm exploring the idea of identity. So, now that the class is over for the summer, I might share my views on identitys.

First, I'm working full time at a national department store with an automotive department. I stock tires and batteries. It pays shitty, and batteries are very heavy. Tires get to be heavy after moving say, 240 in a day.

One of the cool things about my job is that it's fairly physically demanding. There's three tiers or shelves, and they get stacked 6 or 7, or 5 high depending on the size. Truck and hugefuckingperformance tires get stacked five high in the cave. But up on the top there's more room, so my partner jon gets up there and I pitch them up to him. It's probably a good 10 maybe 12 feet that I can lob them up to him.

This is important not to toot my own horn, and say I'm big. But what it is I look at it as training for The Highland Games.
Here, The Games are a social/cultural/ethnic celebration for Scotts, English, Welsh, Celtic, Irish, Gaelic folk. It's part of my tradition, and social identity.
These Highland Games take place a number of times a year at different locations. On Sept 23-25 this year, at Hopkinton State Fairgrounds. After the professionals do their games, they all ameteurs the opportunity to try the events. I like doing the ameteur ones.

Now, oh, before I forget, this entry is about my identity as a professional, or on a porofessional level. This is how those around me every day perceive me. I'm a tire jocky. Who has 17" arms, and weighs 272#. That's down from 302# that I was at working for the restaurant. So losing the fat and gaining muscle is a great side benefit to the job. Quite honestly, I love that part of it. It's like working at a gym for 5 to 7 hours a day. 4 of those days require the most strenuous lifting and running.

But the pay is lousey. I don't make commission, although that may or may not change. I don't sell much, but, well, I'm not on commission--a viscious circle. I could, definitely go across to being a salesman without any problems. But that means dealing with customers, a definite minus.
In this bastardized position, I have the opportunity of selling, without having to listen to as much of the complaints. A definite plus.

But the problem is that I'm still a support, not a sales; i.e. sucky pay.
And there's the societal-thing, of how I'm looked at, and identified by society.

Court ruling: Kelo et al v. City of New London, 04-108.
http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20050623104909990004&_ccc=1&cid=842

Senator Dodd:
I realize that you didn't make the terrible decision in this lawsuit. I realize you are not a judge, nor juror. You are a senator...one who has been re-elected numerous times by people like myself.

I'm writing to tell you that I think the decision in this case was terrible. I want you to know how I, a citizen on New London, feel about this stupid decision. It is most definitely wrong for the city, and its puppet organization the NLDC, to take people's land under the guise of Eniment Domain.

Things have changed since the original meaning of Eminent Domain was decided in the courts. I understand that this city has a need for economic development. However, you should know that the city of New London has very bad sight, both literally and figuratively. New London as a administrative body does a terrible job of stewarding its land. As a matter of factual record, there are any number of abandoned (or "underutilyzed" as the city labels them) buildings or properties that can and should be developed for "public use." Most notably, there is a huge 4 story office building with a huge banner saying "FOR LEASE", located in the same neighborhood as Keno. That building has had this sign on it for the last 5 years. What sense does that make: to take people's homes, when there are buildings reading and willing to be used?

Additionally, there are many buildings on Bank and State Streets, as well as city-wide that are equally as "underutilyzed." But the city, New London is not interested in those buildings. They are not interested in promoting those areas to outside business as they aren't "prime." The Keno neighborhood is prime. It is waterfront, and the city, with its inferiority complex thinks that the only way it can have something to offer business, and potential office space is on the waterfront.

This is a disgusting use of their power. I hope that you sir, do not stand behind the city's stance on what it offers business coming into this town. It is truly disgusting, and horrid that citizens in this town have to lose their homes, places their families have lived in for many years, in the interest of making rich the select few on the city council, or in the wretched, accursed NLDC. A Coast Guard museum, may be in the "public interest." However, of all the dozens of residents that I've talked to over the past few years we don't feel that the city has the public interest in mind. It is NOT in our interests to have a federally subsidised, essentially non-profit organization supplanting people's homes.

Thank you for your time

This post was edited by zen on Jun 23, 2005.