Technology Sucks!

My F'ing Playstation 3 crashed. AGAIN! Sunday I switched it on, prepared to sacrifice a few brain cells carjacking Corvettes and beating up hookers playing GTA 4 when a message appeared. I knew instantly what it was, it happened a year ago, almost to the exact day. "Hard drive has been compromised and needs to be rebuilt. Rebuild now?" And the friendly OK glowed like a beacon. Only when I pressed it, it just rebooted the system and brought me back to the same message over and over again. No GTA 4, no Corvettes, no hookers.

Shit!

So I called Playstation and they informed it will cost me $150 to fix. "But this is the second time it's happened, I barely got a year out of this new one you sent me."

"Sorry, the warranty is expired." The customer service rep said.

That's where Rachel grabbed the phone.

I snickered, thinking, you're in trouble now, dude.

She took the diplomatic route, bulleting the particulars:

• Only a year old.
• This happened to us once already.
• Boyfriend takes impeccable care of said device. (I didn't even take the plastic off the top, it kept the dust off the console and was easier to clean).
• He doesn't download off the Internet, pirate games, or play burned CD's in it.
  

She met with what I can only assume was false sympathy because she asked for a supervisor. Things went from bad to worse.

He essentially accused us for the meltdown siting the unlikelihood that the problem could happen to the same person twice, a rarity according to Mr. Supervisor.

So she tried logic, "Could you give me some examples of how a hard drive could be compromised? I mean, we live by the ocean, is it the salt air, the dust, humidity? I mean if it is our fault I'd like to know how we can prevent it from happening again so our $150 investment isn't wasted."

He offered some crap explanation about getting regular updates online, which I got, but essentially we're screwed.



After the crushing disappointment of knowing there was no other recourse, I added insult to injury. Online were numerous blog posts and forums that described the same problem happening to others, like me, just wanting to shoot some drug dealers.



I'm angry, of course, but mostly disappointed. I hate feeling helpless. PlayStation should be ashamed of themselves. Even car manufacturers recall faulty vehicles regardless of the expense. Maybe there's more at stake being behind the wheel of a improperly built car, maybe I should start carjacking or beating down hookers, that might get PlayStation to do the right thing.

Shades of Caucasian

I couldn't deny it when my therapist called me a misogynist. I didn't wonder why, or even try to excuse it. I was raised by one of the meanest woman to ever walk the earth, and to make matters worse, my mother unleashed her on me.

Babchi was my Polish grandmother. She was a five foot five, one hundred and eighty pound brick shithouse with tremendous upper body strength. Thick droopy jowls made her face look like it was melting. Parts of her skin failed to change color in the sun, leaving her splotched like a spaniel.

Babchi never spared the rod. As a matter of fact, she cultivated abuse into an art form, employing public humiliation and blunt instruments to carry out her particular brand of cruelty. She favored metal spatulas but didn't discriminate. I was once hit with a vacuum cleaner; my brother was bludgeoned by a lamp. She had laser accurate aim when logistical issues prevented her from reaching you in time. We joked she had boomerang heels. I never once remember feeling affection for her. She never made any attempt to curtail her dominance with random acts of kindness, never felt guilt the way Mom did after a doling out a beating.

After Mom died, I took pity on Babchi. I hope I never witness a mother lose a child again. She literally fell apart after that. Succumbing to Parkinson's, she died in a nursing home. I failed to visit with any frequency and she never remembered who I was when I did.

Some people leave lasting impressions on my memory. I remember the tall bald man at the end of my street I thought was God, the milkman that brought us a two and a half gallon jug of cream by mistake, my college professor who saw in me what I couldn't.

Some of these memories are like deeply embedded scars. I'd like to forget Babchi and the legacy she left behind. But I see her every day on the back of my hand, and in my chin, where the skin lacks pigment.

Mowmow has a myspace

http://www.staffyclub.com/public/user/name_MowMow/

Tango With Evil

It’s an original Alex Ross painting, the only artwork I own. Rachel bought for our first anniversary and it adorns our living room wall. Tango With Evil, aptly named, because to even touch him is toxic. He is the Joker, and dare I say, one of the best villains pop culture has to offer. It doesn’t surprise me that so many other antagonists fall short of the mark. They lack panache. In The Dark Knight, Ledger puts it best when he tells Batman, “I don’t want to kill you. You complete me.”

The theater erupted, laughing at the tag line from Jerry Maguire, but to us diehards, we know it’s what lies at the core of the relationship between these two titans. The Joker has no problem admitting, “Its not about money, it’s about sending a message.” Batman and the Joker represent two ends of a spectrum, ideology against ideology. The Joker kills to ridicule Batman’s only rule. “You could’ve saved them if you killed me just once.” Bruce Wayne knows killing The Joker would put an end to his senseless violence but is forced to live with his choices because to kill, "Makes me no better than him."

The Dark Knight lives up to the hype. It satisfies the diehards and entertains those only familiar with the two movies. Jack Nicholson will live in infamy as a different kind of Joker. Ledger’s death only seems sadder now that we’ve seen what he’s capable of, range beyond comprehension.

Go see it.

There Goes Tokyo

"Anyone with a weight-related medical concern and whose waist is bigger than the acceptable size –- a rigorous 33.5 inches for men and 35.4 inches for women –- must lose weight, according to a new law in Japan. Otherwise, they face compulsory diet advice and follow-up visits for three to six months. For some perspective, the average male waist size in the U.S. is 39 inches, while American women average 36.5 inches.The idea is to reduce the ranks of the overweight by 10% over the next four years and 25% over the next seven years.

"If not, the government will start fining companies and local governments, who are the providers of health coverage for the majority of Japanese. Ultimately, Japan hopes this campaign will help curb its health-care costs, which have been increasing, just like waist sizes."

What? They're going to fine companies? I am in awe to say the least. Maybe it's because Japan is an island and they're worried the thinner people might get pushed off. But no matter how you slice it (Pun intended), Japan is one ballsey country.

So I ask myself, "self, could this work here?" Rara and I often ponder why aren't people's health taken into account when figuring out health insurance rates? If I go to great lengths to exercise, eat right, (Whole wheat pasta and organic broccoli while writing this), and keep my cholesterol, blood pressure, and blood sugar in check, then why are my rates the same as the guy eating Baconators? After all, we charge higher premiums to irresponsible drivers. Why not do the same for irresponsible eaters?

Our obesity epidemic is closely tied to socioeconomics and poor food choices are often a matter of logistics. There are no Whole foods in Roxbury, and fruits and vegetables don't last as long as preservative laden snack foods and frozen dinners. Another factor is the way foods are marketed. Lucky Charms are now allowed to tout having a serving of whole grains in every bowl. Vitamin water is mostly sugar, preservatives, and coloring, marketed as healthy. Gatorade asks, "Is it in you?" There should be a sub text that says, "Then get it out." Maybe they'd clean their act up if a ten percent fine were levied against their profits and reinvested into education, so that people could make more informed choices.

But how do you police these companies?

The FDA is a dinosaur. Remember Pirates Booty, that organic snack food with only 3 grams of fat, none of it saturated, and a calorie count so low you could eat a whole bag and not go overboard? The adage says, "If it sounds too good to be true then it probably is." Good Housekeeping tested Pirates Booty and found tons of saturated fat and calories. When wind of their findings caught the FDA's attention they sent the makers of Pirates Booty a letter, asking them to correct the label. It should have been pulled and the company fined, heavily. Pirates Booty issued a statement and placed it on every bag, undoubtedly written by their crack marketing team, stating that due to high demand they were forced to change the ingredients and didn't make a peep about getting bagged lying.

As with all our cultural problems, when you peel back the layers, you get more layers. I'll watch Japan closely; fingers crossed, and hope that even if they fall on their fat asses, they'll learn something valuable.

And then teach us.

Henchmen

Sometimes I joke that I have Attention Deficit Disorder but in reality, I have Attention Surplus Disorder. Case and point: The Dark Knight arrives in theaters July 18. Mark your calendars. Mine’s been marked for months. In anticipation, I’ve watched the trailers, three in all, so many times the tiny screen on the website threatens to permanently burn into my screen.

My unique attention to detail brings to mind the lives of those we seldom even notice in movies, Henchmen. And if you think about it real hard, depending on the movie, several henchmen are killed and you never gave it a second thought. It’s the mastermind we focus on. But without Henchmen they’re really just a one man show, easily defeated.

We often think of them as dim witted, easily swayed, the consummate follower. But we seldom ponder their attractive attributes, they’re loyalty, obedience, strong work ethics, and wide open schedules. It almost impossible not to wonder why they even applied given that their fate is woven into the fabric of the story and the outcome is never favorable. Can you recall a movie where a Henchman was the last one standing?

It makes me wonder what the application is like.

Name
Address
Have you ever been convicted of a felony? If no, why not?
Please list most recent pillaging experience first:
Please list any specialized skills you have i.e. safe cracking or kidnapping.

I can recall one movie that explored the lives of henchmen pretty accurately, Donnie Brasco. Can you?

By the way, in writing this I realized what draws me to ponder these inane subjects. I’m fascinated because at one point I was a Henchman; a 1996 article in the Boston Herald even said so:

MASTERMIND IS SENTENCED IN GEM THEFT RING
Date: September 20, 1996 Page: E24 Section: Metro
DEDHAM -- A four-year probe into a father-and-son jewelry heist ring came to an end yesterday as one of its masterminds pleaded guilty to armed robbery, larceny and conspiracy charges. John Frederick Sobolewski was sentenced to 12 years in state prison for his role in robberies that netted more than $1 million in Massachusetts. The 54-year-old electronics salesman from Nashua changed his plea to guilty in the face of mounting evidence following the guilty pleas of his two sons, Kevin, 28, and Bryan, 25, whom he recruited for the robberies.

Agamemnon Was A Pussy

All Agamemnon did was sacrifice his daughter to win a war.

Then, after his cheating wife’s tawdry taunts, he walked on some purple carpet.

Big deal.

Let me ask you this:

Did he ever watch two seasons of The Dog Whisperer and then go out and buy a purebred puppy thinking all he needed was a collar and a few forceful pulls on a leash to get it to obey.

Well I did. And my hubris was a grander scale than that wimp.

(Note: I in no way, shape, or form, liken my experience with this dog to that of rearing a child. God forbid I fail at this I can always drive my dog to the pound. Parents don’t have that luxury, although school shootings would end tomorrow if we instituted a put down policy on all kids up to the age of 18. Think about it: “Sorry junior, it’s just not working out. You’re Mom and I think we’d do better with a different breed. So we’re going have to put you down).

Meet Mow Mow.

Yes, Mow Mow. She’s beautiful, rambunctious, and very playful. But I can’t help but wonder if our breeder didn’t feel a little like God when she spliced in some old Atari PacMan into the genetic stew of our pup.

She chomps e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

So we read dog books on positive training, no violence here, to raise young Mow Mow right. They tell you how to teach Sit. It goes something like this:
Wait for your dog to sit. Click and treat. (We’ve chosen to clicker train our dog).
Every time it sits on its own, Click and Treat.
Then start to walk backwards after she sits,

she should follow and sit, expecting a treat.

Click and Treat.
When she does this 80% of the time, add the command “Sit.”
Not bad right? Conditioning at its best.
It works. It elicits feelings of power I’ve never felt before. To shape the behavior of this beautiful being…priceless. I’ll get ten dogs if it’s this rewarding.

Hubris.

She bites everything, as stated earlier.

The book says that whenever she comes in contact with human skin to yelp out “OW!” just like Mom or her brothers and sisters would do in the pack.

This works, kind of.

Anyone walking by our house must think we have Turret's.
When she chews on something she’s not supposed to the book says to offer her an alternative. This works, kind of.

When I say she chews everything, I mean everything, metal, wood, flooring, sticks, rocks, trees, grass, cars, the couches, the coffee table, you name it, she chews it. Offer her an alternative, she chews that until you turn your back.

So we’ve called in reinforcements.

A trainer will be here Saturday morning.

I’ll keep you posted.