Life – Page 6 – Walt-O-Matic

Forkin’ Eh?

You’ve heard it said, “if you’re going to live in America, learn to speak English” — but how about this, if you’re going to work in fast food, at least recognize the name of the product you’re selling to the public.

Immigration is the big topic these days, and I suspect it has to do more with the dilution of the culture than it has to do with any particular individuals. In every country, other than America, when you go there, you’re expected to learn the language. But what about smaller localizations… say a burger place?

I got to observe something amazing first hand today in Fuddrucker’s of Herndon, VA.

A customer (not me) ordered a salad, and in Fuddrucker style, it came in a small trough. Problem was, the customer wasn’t given a fork to eat it with.

Now if you’ve been to any Fuddrucker’s, you’d know that by the self-serve condiments are the eating utensils. You simply help yourself.

This customer didn’t know where the location was and politely asked, “excuse me, where are the forks?”

The person behind the counter looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

He tried again. “Where are the forks?”

The person was confused, and went to enlist the linguistic skills of someone working the grill.

The guy pointed at his salad, and was clearly getting frustrated, “The forks?”

The new guy shrugged and had to get the manager.

She came over and he said, “All I’m trying to do is get a fork.”

She looks down at the take out bin and asks, “You want a plastic one? Cause we have metal ones.”

To which he replies, “Metal, thank you.”

And she looks down and says, “You’ll have to get them yourself, I only have plastic here” and she walks away!

He screams out “WHERE!?!? That’s what I’m trying to find out!!!” He storms off and I never did get to see if he found his eating utensils.

The point of the story, however, is that there is a very limited set of common vocabulary used in the restaurant business. Simple works like: Coke, Napkin, Fork, Bathroom should be so common in repeated daily usage that one of even low intelligence would picks up the sound and associate a meaning. There seems to be deliberate effort to not learn even the fundamentals.

Even more localized, I can’t count anymore the number of times I’ve walked into a McDonald’s, ordered a Big Mac, and the person working the register had no clue what I was talking about. Literally. However, order an “Numero Uno” and they have no problem. I don’t understand how the mandatory training required by these places allows people to slip through to dealing directly with customers without being able to understand the primary product names when heard.

Verizon – Killing the Internet We Do Have

Verizon shows up, severing phone and internet, then drives off.

Despite all things, we decided we would give the fiber optic a shot, and we signed up for high speed internet and television.

Several days ago Miss Utility came out and sprayed marks all over our front yard.

Then, today, Verizon came out with their trucks, dug up the front yard to lay cable, and drove off. This was just the digging. They did not set up the internet or the television.

However, when they left, the copper land lines were severed — we have no phone service.
The cable internet no longer working — we have no internet.

In short, they cut us off completely from the outside world, including 911.

Wife calls the business office.

They claim that can’t get a truck out until MAYBE tomorrow. Unacceptable, since they’re still literally in the neighborhood.
They claim they are not responsible for copper connectivity.
They claim they are not responsible for Adelphia.

Follow that, they come by and cut the connections, then claim they aren’t responsible for fixing them.

UPDATE: Just got off the phone with the Virginia State Corporation Commission, and I have to say they were more than helpful. Our billing issue from before was something she said was fairly common called cramming, where one is signed up for services without permission. Verizon’s course of action was dead on to block future charges and to refund the entire amount; but even though they did that, the FCC is now being notified. As for today’s incident, the Virginia State Corporation Commission was hanging up with me and contacting Verizon immediately; my job is to let them know when phone service has been restored and how the experience was. The bad news is that I do need to contact Adelphia, have them fix the problem, and charge it to Verizon.

UPDATE: My wife tried calling Verizon again, explaining that her business was down as well as the vagueness of truck availability was unacceptable. Their response was that “unless this is an emergency and you’re dying” they could not get a truck out, and the time frame appeared to increase. Meanwhile, my wife’s call to Adelphia went much better, they were not surprised at all to hear Verizon sliced the line; they took note of the VSCC’s involvement. Adelphia marked this down as a priority and they’d have a truck out between now and 9am tomorrow.

UPDATE: I just got a call from Verizon’s customer service stating that they had just received the complaint from the VSCC and they were sending a truck out immediately to fix the problem. I called back the VSCC, as they wanted to know when I had contact with Verizon, and it was amusing how quickly Verizon could change its mind and how mysteriously they suddenly found the inspiration and resources. VSCC, you’re on my Christmas list.

UPDATE: As of 5:30pm the same evening, we got dial tone. Contacted the VSCC, letting them know. They had us talk to the FCC about cramming.

UPDATE: Adelphia showed up and using a little device were able to identify the line as broken. Sure enough, after some digging, they found a severed coax with a fiber optic cable running right through it. They’re taking pictures for evidence, presumably when they bill Verizon. They ran a new cable, it’s bright orange. Now, what’s interesting is that the repair guy was very upset. Driving through our neighborhood it was apparent there were many houses in our area that have orange replacement cables above ground.

Come Upstairs…

My four year old nephew sneaks down to whisper something in my ear…

Visited my four year old nephew this evening, but while I was there he was sent up to clean his room.

I took the opportunity to converse with the adults while fixing a laptop computer so that Flash would work with Firefox.

My nephew snuck downstairs and motioned me over covertly so he could whisper in my ear: “When I get done, you need to come upstairs and play with me, not working on my dad’s laptop doing something you find interesting…”

Albino Boa

My tail of touching an eight foot albino boa constrictor.

Went into a small town store today and upon the counter, uncaged, was a live 8 foot albino boa with a 5″ diameter stretched out that was a brilliant yellow and white. The snake’s owner was holding the head and had a portion of it wrapped around his arm.

While I’m not much on snakes, it was actually quite pretty to look at.

Apparently the snake has been his pet ever since it was small enough to hold in the palm of his hand. He was quite proud of it, and even let me hold the body portion. It was about 40 pounds, and felt like a loose lump of meat in a plasticly container. The skin wasn’t slimy at all.

It was the first time I’ve ever touched a snake. Ever.

Fascinated, I made the mistake of asking a question which shattered my growing compassion: “How much food does he eat?”

“One bunny a week.”

Field Truncation Leads to Humor

A co-worker placed an innocent online order, however, due to a horrible mishap, a very wrong message got sent.

A co-worker of mine tends to place online food orders for himself, my wife, and me at a local establishment when she comes to visits.

My coworker has a tendency to like to screw with my order by placing funny text in my comment field. In his, he wrote “Your portions are too big, small portions please.” In mine, he’d then write “I am a manly macho man, I need a microscope to see your portions.” So, when we’d go to pick up our food, I’d be wondering why my order was the size of a bowling ball. He’d break into laughter, and the manager would show me the order slip. They’ve been doing this for weeks.

This week the manager asked me if I had typed in a comment. I turned to the guilty and asked “What’d you do?” In complete and sincere innocence he responded: “I did nothing. I swear.” His look told me he was being truthful.

The manager, however, refused to show me the slip. This is odd, because he always lets me see. This time he was insistent, said it was between him and my friend, and wouldn’t even let my wife see.

The next time we placed an order, I saw from the old values, still on the computer, what had happened.

My co-worker had typed this:
I am very H U N G R Y!!! Make me happy.

However, due to field truncation in the order form, this is what the manager saw:
I am very H U N G Make me happy.

Banging Binoculars

More honest humor from children.

The other night my seven year old niece came over and wanted to do some star gazing, so I grabbed my nice pair of binoculars, handed them to her, and we headed outside.

As we were walking through the front door, she bumped them against the door frame pretty hard. Now these are fairly expensive optics, and perhaps I should have known better. I didn’t say anything, but it must have been obvious from the brief sharp squint on my face that I had concern, as Madison looked up and apologized without prompting:

“Uncle Walt, I’m really sorry I bumped your binoculars. I didn’t mean to.” She paused for reflection, “I think it happened because I wasn’t paying attention.”

I was impressed by this very forthright and honest assessment on her part. “Are you paying attention now?”

She thought for a second, “I’d like to think so.”

Ah, if only we all could have this kind of open dialog at work.

The Roadhouse Asks Police For Lost Income Compensation?

The Texas Roadhouse Asking Police for Lost Income Compensation? Of course not; here’s what you can’t read in the papers.

Newspapers are carrying a story that the Texas Roadhouse has asked police to compensate them for lost income just after the funeral of fallen officers shut down the street for a few hours. That anyone would conceive of such a thing is totally gut wrenching, and a nationwide boycott of the Texas Roadhouse is happening. Problem is, the story is wrong.

Ever get the feeling that perhaps something is so amazingly off base that perhaps the media is showing only a distorted side? That perhaps the sensationalism of the story is what’s poopularizing it, not the accuracy. Perhaps the media thinks it has everything. I have no vested interest in either side, and certainly mourn the loss of the officers, but as a society that claims it wants the truth, it’s our responsiblity to go looking for it, not to pass ill-informed judgement without some fact checking. It took no effort to dig up more than the reporter.

Here’s some tidbits of what will eventually come to light… and I suspect get burried.

During the actual shooting, the Roadhouse DID send food to the officers, and apparently quite a bit, even as the lockdown was in progress. In fact, if one looks at the record of Roadhouse donations for food and cash, one sees that the Texas Roadhouse is a very involved and generous community member. Not to mention -very- supportive of the police.

A nationwise boycott simply dries up the donations and relief efforts. Nothing says the Roadhouse has to donate, and if there’s less to give, they can’t. If a community suffers a loss, from a fallen officer, to a broken levy, don’t be surprised if the Texas Roadhouse isn’t already on it. One merely has to look at past history as a metric of intent. The Roadhouse has a stellar history. So, invoicing for lost business is totally out of character.

You haven’t seen the actual email message either, have you? Hmmm. You’ve only been quoted pieces, huh. Turns out the phrases you’re seeing in print are out of context.

The email, it turns out, was sent to the fire department and had NOTHING to do with the police. One of the new owners was apparently going through the books and noticed there were a number of fines, and due to hardship wanted to know if there was any way get the fines reduced or forgiven. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, there’s a good chance if you’ve had a speeding ticket, you’ve asked a judge for a reduction. Often they’re granted if there’s demonstrated changes or proof of hardship. In this case, however, the enumeration of the hardships were listed and included everything from general construction of a local bypass to the sad day of the police shooting. The email wasn’t an invoice, nor was it addressed to the police. Nor did it belittle the terrible loss.

So how did the police get it?

As many people in corporate America do, they don’t read. They see a key phrase and extrapolate. And someone at the firehouse thought the email was asking something it wasn’t. They forwarded it to the police with their own take.

Then the media got involved because it sounded like good news, and apparently never got the actual letter, nor did they follow up with the author.

The police… the ones that get discounted dinners, and the ones that were given donations, the ones that were recepients of the outpouring of good will during their time of need …remained silent.

I suspect they’re still hurting over their fallen officers. A loss like that doesn’t heal easily. And the gunman that did it was dead. Problem is, with that much anger, there isn’t a good way to focus it or release it, and it seems the mis-perception that happened provided that release value.

The community was hurting too, so it wasn’t like this was going to go away, corporate silence didn’t end it, instead it ballooned. Problem is, in mass, the public is pretty stupid. And dangerous. Just like Agent ‘J’ from Men In Black says.

Kids. And I’m talking young highschool kids. Ones who had nothing to do with anything, who are only there to earn a little cash for college later, are being harassed and threatened for working at the Roadhouse now. Think about that for a second. A sixteen year old kid being assaulted for something they didn’t participate in to make the public feel better.

Meanwhile, damage control at corporate headquarters has seemingly gotten the focus off themselves. And the local community continues to punish the people and the tiny store, even though the focus of their disgruntledness isn’t there.

So, what can we expect to happen?

1. The email will eventually leak out, but few will care — facts just aren’t interesting, and people don’t like to admit they’re wrong.
2. Within six months the majority of community and country will totally forget about this anyhow.
3. The Texas Roadhouse, unless they take the higher ground, will be LESS inclined to make generous donations to the community and police.
4. Every person there has just learned an important lesson about the police force in general, and trust them less, respect them less, and help them less in the long term. That’s not what the police need — especially since donation to furture fallen officers and their families will get less support.
5. Every person there has just learned that a corporation won’t protect you, even if you’re falsely accused or misrepresented. It’s easier to make you go away.
6. Every person there has just learned that the media isn’t interested in accurate reporting. What other stories are false, misleading, or wrong?
7. And, most likely, some uninvolved kid will get physically hurt over something that didn’t happen, no one will care, labeling it justice.

But at this point, keep in mind, you’re now hearing this second hand. And this isn’t about the Roadhouse anyhow. It simply is a matter that if something sounds so outrageous, check the facts yourself. It isn’t that hard. You may be surprised to learn who you can trust, and who you can’t.

The price we pay for this kind of incident isn’t short term. The community as a whole now suffers. It’s one of those cases where each side will feel grossly wronged by the other, when there wasn’t an issue to start with. We see it all the time, and oddly enough, it’s the media fanning the flames. Maybe we should be boycotting the papers, and not the steakhouse, buying a dinner for an officer who’s putting their life on the line for us all.

DragonCon 2006

Visited DragonCon. I’ve decided I like FanGirls.

As much as I like science fiction, fantasy, and games, it may be hard to fathom that I’ve never been to a “Con” before. I’d visited, briefly, a Star Trek convention, but it was more vendors selling stuff that anything exciting.

Oh sure, I’ve been to training classes, seminars, computer conferences, security conferences, hacker conferences, but nothing quite like this.

DragonCon is about one MegaMeter (1000km) from my home. Meaning, it was approximately a 13hr ride in the car. And, going down with friends, especially the kind that attend “cons” all the time, you can only imagine what the conversations were like, especially during pitstops.

Wendy’s in Woodstock, VA was slower than I’d ever seen it. It took literally 35 minutes to process 4 people. While we were standing in line, an indecisive member of the group asked “What are you getting?” After a momentary pause of looking at the cashier, “At this rate, dinner.”

Instead of butter for the baked potato, they serve something that’s “buttery like.” Makes you want to enjoy your “meaty-like” burger. You know the one — it has protein in all the colors of the rainbow.

Even a decent sit-down meal had its quirks.

For instance, I’ve made the observation that women don’t just drink coffee… they have a relationship with it. They warm their hands, snuggle up to it, press their face to the cup, slowly inhale the scents. I’m throughly convinced that if coffee vibrated, they’d have no need for men.

I suspect all this will get ruined in the future, when in the age of instant we’ll hear old people say things like “Back in my day, we used to ingest coffee with our mouths. Have another Espresso Patch?” and then slap a rectangle adhesive filled with caffine on their arm.

For breakfast we hit Cracker Barrel. The place is themed with all kinds of old kitchenware and appliances, the kind you might have seen in the 1920s. That made me wonders, when I’m a zillion years old, will I be sitting in places that have Pampered Chef products glued to the walls with an old Intel Pentium processor sitting under glass? And instead of LP records, DVDs will be hung on the wall as obsolete memorials to media long since forgotten?

It certainly can’t be the food that brings people in the doors. I know. I’ve tried it. The older crowd must be brought in by nostalgia. Either that, or this is evidence that taste buds fail in later years as well.

Now when the con starts, it’s something like 8am. And that means if you are staying in a hotel across town, you need to get up early. I’m not a morning person. Oh sure, I may be perky in the morning, but that right there is a sign I’m still asleep. At that point I still need basic instructions like “Step 1: Put syrup on pancake. Step 2: Put pancake in head.”

Evenings were just as exciting. While the group went to Kroger’s, I decided to hang out in the car and get some rest for a minute while the others shopped. Of course, when one of them returned and opened the door, the car alarm was set off — and not having the key, there was nothing I could do about it. The owner of the car came running out of the store screaming, “Oh my god! Someone’s trying to steal Walt!!!”

I’m not sure what’s up with Atlanta, Georgia either. I mean the place looks like the Bible belt — if a Bible belt had strip joints, pole dancers, and adult book stores. And when you’re not quite awake, you read signs incorrectly. A double-take had to convince me that I did not see “Secretions: Frictional Lapdances” hanging on a big purple sign. It was the kind of advertising that strikes you — “We’ve turned undressing into creative loafing.”

Another sign I misread was “Self Sewage” instead of self storage. It’s weird when the eyes and brain don’t fully communicate.

DragonCon was also somewhere that it was dangerous to pickup up other people’s conversations in the middle. I kid you not, some guy walks by me as he explains to his buddy, “My foreskin… gone!” — it’s the kind of short phrase that leaves very strange imagery in your mind for long periods afterward.

Another case was when a girl was relaying her half of a conversation to her friends: “Ah ha! …you’re old enough to be my daddy.” Which, given the age of the person stating it, made you think twice about Gandolf in retrospect.

And another case someone a young lady walked by really confused announcing to her friends, “I’ve lost my pants.” I can’t even imagine how that’d happen in a crowed room.

While waiting at a conference table, some guy dressed as a cop and drinking a beer was going down the escalator. Someone passing by on the other direction asked “Nice costume, did you make it yourself?” The reply went as such, “Yeah.” (pause) “Actually, no.” (pause) “I found a cop and kicked his ass.”

I can see where that might save a buck going to a costume store, but I wouldn’t recommend the approach for the general public.

One thing that I did happily discover at DragonCon was FanGirls — proof that the female gender actually groks scifi and will even dress up as their favorite character. For the curious, the G-Rated pages on Wikipedia or even a mother nursing in public shows more intimate, revealing, and interesting places on the female form than were exposed at the con… just not as in an of interesting way. It’s like when you realize that the waitresses at Hooters are wearing more clothing with a looser fit than the general public at the local swimming hole.

I was surprised by the fact that normal attendees looked astonishingly good in their costumes, many quite professional. While at the same time, those that entered the Dawn look-a-like contest were far more “chunky” than the character they were trying to emulate. Not everyone can pull off spandex or short skirts. And a lot of people seemed to be out to prove this point.

The registration desk seemed to be struck by its own problems. People were fussing about this and that, and registration was saying they’d done everything to make it possible to pre-register so these folks wouldn’t have to stand in line. My thought? Invent a CrankyCon, and send all the whiners there.

At one point I was suffering from a headache brought on by lack of food. While rubbing my temples I almost fell asleep at the table, as I was trying to go to my happy place. I woke up shouting “there are Kingons in my happy place!” The laughs at the table made me wonder if they put them there.

I got them back, however, by folding my black napkin into a Darth Bunny. Darth Bunny can always make liquid shoot of out of people’s noses if he appears at just the right time.

DragonCon wasn’t without it’s quota of toilet tales either.

On the way down I-81, we stopped at a rest stop that had renovations going on. The bathrooms were closed, but they had a dozen porta-potties. Now I can say the following without prejuice or exageration: it was actually the cleanest porta-potty I’d ever been in. Locking door, no grafitti, no order, well stocked, no splatter. I’d eat off it — it was that clean.

Contrast this to the large obscure bathroom I found hiding in the hotel that had as many empty stalls as the matrix had gun racks. I pick one down at the far end, hoping no one will spend the time to come down this far. I was wrong. Some guy must have gotten lonely and wanted a neighbor. He wanders down, takes the stall right next to mine, and starts letting out this old-man poo smell. I would have rather had breathing lessons in an outhouse. gak!

Another time, I walk in, and a dad marches his little girl in. Not his baby, not his toddler, but his little girl. She stands with her back to the urinal, crosses her arms, and starts doing a line inspection. No friggin’ way I’m going there. Forget performance anxiety, I’m more concerned about a lawsuit.

Maybe, like grade school, kids need their own bathrooms. I’m listening to another conversation happening next door, “Just sit down and use the potty… Don’t bend over! …Look, you just put your badge in the potty.” “I know, it reeks,” came back tiny voice. “Leave it alone, don’t touch it.” “But it’s mine…”

I’ve got to say though, DragonCon certainly didn’t have the number of ‘incidents’ I expected it to. People there were kind, friendly, and unquestionably helpful. Once I needed a bag to carry some sodas, and some stranger took out some object he bought at a vendor table downstairs and handed me the bag, other people were kind enough to share food and drinks, people shared their place in line concentrating on keeping things moving instead of being territorial. It just convinces me that geeks are more polite than other social groups.

I was surprised, however, at how there is a wide diversity of the way actors treat cons, fans, and speaking. I got to talk with some actors, and it’s fairly clear, the majority of them don’t understand the larger picture of the series they play in, they don’t like watching themselves on television or in movies, and many of them loath their jobs. So when fans admire them for their work, their character, or what they represent — they take it with as much excitement as your dentist drilling a tooth. It’s sad. Autograph signing in profitable, but they really don’t seem to want to be there. I suspect they get over saturated with the same questions and it gets old.

While the rest of my group was playing games, I decided to walk the con and take photographs. I snagged about 3000 in all. (I hope to get them online this week.) A number will require photoshopping — which makes me think, Photoshop is like Digital Alcohol… a kind of Beer Goggle filter.

The ride back home was just as fun. We passed a large guy on a motorcycle who’s earlobes were flapping in the wind the same way that Jar Jar’s ears would.

I drunk way too much soda and iced-tea, and requested a non-emergency rest stop. However with bumps in the road, it was more like “Don’t try to be a hero, there’s a McDonald’s at the next exit.” (Take it! Take it!)

With McDonald’s sometimes you think the freshest thing they serve are the buns. Sometimes it’s the service. And that just makes you want to take a shower and crawl in a fetal position.

So, what happened at DragonCon. Re registered by going through long lines made from barriers of PVC piping. We went to the game room and some of us registered for time slots. Later in the week we checked out a game from the library and played it for a while. Most of the group spent their time playing Dungeons and Dragons. I spent the majority of my time going to panels, costume contests, shopping, and taking photos.

I picked up some comics and got them signed by the author, I bought some drawing software, and I learned about the new Neverwinter Nights 2 that’s coming out. I got some stage makeup for this Halloween and got a personal lesson from the distributor. I got to see River and Wash from Firefly, he’s an exceptional speaker, she’s shy. Sulu was wandering around the convention floor. I got to see Walter (“chevron five locked”) and General Hammond from Stargate SG-1. I got to have a good sized private conversation with Delenn from Babylon 5. Someone was selling a new RPG game based on historically accurate data and story telling, his model was there signing her pictures in the book. Speaking of models, there was some adult model there who looked absolutely horrible in person, a tribute to Photoshop. I also met a model who was on the cover of a sketch book. Artist’s Alley looked booked with people making requests.

I watched two costume contests, neither all that good. People need to realize that if you don’t know how to stage fight properly, you look stupid. Very stupid. Often spastic.

Saw a Who’s Line is it Anyway clone, which was pretty good — although they seemed to think excessive volume was cool and overdrove their speakers.

There were quite a number of people dressed in Goth. And, even more surprisingly I found a Goth band I really liked. Me. Like Goth? I know. Weird. I’m on the edge of ordering their CD, though I don’t know how I’d ever explain why it was in my collection. Chatted with their keyboardist as well, she was very nice, personable, pretty, and pleasant — not what I had imagined Goth to be.

Heard a fantastic high-technical content zero-arrogance talk about how to film models to look like full size sets done by the guy who did the “Mac killed my inner child” clip. Had a long private conversation with him before we got kicked out of the room.

Anyhow, I know what you all want… not text… you wanna see photos of FanGirls.

UPDATE: A quick set of fangirls is on Picasa, and a lot more, about two and a half days worth, has been uploaded to my photo album.

A Summer Walk

It’s my 14th year anniversary. W00t!

A chorus of crickets ushered in dusk, and the hustle of street traffic draws to a soft whisper. Most of the homes were dark, and the street lamp posts were just starting to flicker to life. The air feels warm, like an embrace.

Slight wisps of sulfur could be caught on the breeze, distracting the scent of burning hickory under a platter of ribs from attention. Soft long whistles danced between the playful sounds of distant children signaling when streaks of light are rocketing upwards. Their apex blossoms above the house line, illuminating low clouds with their fiery petals and spiral tendrils.

A small flock of birds glides through the smoke, silhouetted against the deep blue sky which grows darker, only to let the twilight of pin lights dance across the heavens.

A bunny rans across a yard as the first deep booms echo from over the lake. The sky illuminates in panoramic technicolor. Aerial bursts forth from all directions.

Clouds of white smoke roll down the empty streets where the cars used to drive. Repeated percussions rhythm against the windows, twisting their reflections momentarily. Distant cheers lift the dazzling sparkles to new heights.

The familiar hush of a water sprinkler silences the booms. The clicking of a playing card in the spokes of a wheel signals the passing of two young girls sharing a bike ride, one carefully balanced behind the other. They ride down the largest hill, peddling as fast as physics allow, enjoying the rush of the wind as they sweep by.

The enchanted evening is occasionally punctuated by the infrequent tardy pop or colorful explosion, as I grip my wife’s hand and walk her home. 14 years. And never a day of regret.

I lay awake on the ground, looking out to the galaxies that are obscured by aftermath of celebration, until eventually the sound of my own breathing is the last thing I hear and the warmth of her breath is the last thing I feel.

Day break will rouse me in the morning, but I rest easy — Tamara’s made life a dream.

Mom Uses A Mac?

To undertand the significance of this post, you have to understand my parents. Dad has been using Windows for quite some time, and getting him to move from DOS to Windows to NT to XP has been a painful, painful, painful journey. For whatever reason, Windows could never survive under his watch — the machine would slow to a crawl, mysterious things would happen, meanwhile virus checks and spyware would show the system clean. Mom, meanwhile, had no interest in computers and would call me up to look up something for her and read it to her; attempts to put her in front of a machine didn’t go well at all.

A few days ago, dad announced he was done with Windows. He wanted a Mac, and so we sat down together and figured out what he needed and ordered him a nice mid-range Macbook Pro. The instructions, I thought, were fairly simple: when it arrives, don’t do anything with it until we get together and I can show you around.

Well, I’m writing this post because that didn’t happen. And the story doesn’t go in the direction you think it might. Without assistance, not so much as a call to me, he fires up the Mac and configures the operating system, without incident. Though he reports he “lost his Mac” — and where I took this to be some code that something went wrong, it turned out it was code that something went terribly right.

He showed my mother the laptop. Remember, she can’t use Windows to save her life. She’s near retirement age, which provides more context, and goes to bed around 7pm. Apparently she stayed up until 2am playing with it and surfing the web… something she’s never been able to do before.

In my mind, that says a lot. It says that Apple’s got it right. That a complete computerphobe can acclimate to be functional in less than an evening, and enjoy it.

Back to dad: clearly someone who’s never used a Mac before is going to encounter problems and confusion, especially if they have precanned expectations that things ought to work like Windows. My intent is to catalog his issues, and the solutions, so that others making the switch will have some help from someone who’s been in the same shoes.

Look for a link here in coming days.