My apologies if you find the technical talk boring, but I think I’ve figured out the stylesheets for my blog enough to get it to look good in all browsers, including Internet Explorer. If you find any pages that look odd, please drop me a line and let me know.
June 2005
Today’s iTip is HOT.
“The Game Of Love”, Santana feat Michelle Branch.
O.k., everyone can calm down, my iPod is working once again. In case you suffer the same trouble as me, here’s what I did.
1. I downloaded a nifty program called YamiPod. You can find it here.
2. I ran the program on my Mac, with the iPod plugged in and iTunes closed. Actually, iTunes kept crashing so that second part was easy.
3. I opted to “restore” my iPod, which gave me a few ominous messages but did what it needed to do.
4. I unmounted and remounted my iPod and then opened iTunes. iTunes promptly did it’s thing and updated all the music on my iPod, bringing everything back to normal.
I see light once again!
“Get Up, Stand Up (Phunk Investigation Radio Edit)”, Stellar Project featuring Brandi Emma.
Now that I’m able to enjoy my tunes again I am able to blog in style! I’m finding myself reading more and more blogs these days and actually going beyond lurking and dropping comments all over the place. As I typed that last sentence I had visions of a pigeon in Central Park leaving his mark. Isn’t that lovely? It gives you insight to my self-esteem, comparing my thoughts to pigeon poop. Oh well. I’m really not that screwed up in the head.
Really.
“Relax”, Frankie Goes To Hollywood.
With this very hot, sticky weather here in Upstate N.Y. I am reminded of my club days when I was spinning tunes at the local bar. It’d be a hot Saturday night in July. The bar would be crowded with men and women, all drinking beer, pop or foofy drinks (it was a gay bar after all). The dance floor would be a sea of bare chested men, hairy bears and a smattering of drag queens marinated in some outrageous perfume, all punctuated by a few bare-chested lesbians. I’d keep the floor moving and the crowd pumped with tracks like “Relax”, “Brand New Lover”, “Let The Music Play”, “Point Of No Return” and other 80s and 90s dance tracks. Of course I’d compliment the mix with a “Stars On 45” jingle and then segue into some late 70s stuff. That was always a popular mix. Something like “Come To Me” by France Joli or “Searchin'” by Hazell Dean.
“Two To Make It Right”, Seduction.
Thinking about this stuff is getting me in the mood to go out and celebrate gay pride this year. Earl has mentioned a couple of local gay pride celebrations coming up. I think we might have to join in the festivities.
“Tell Me When”, The Human League.
How Not iFriendly.
So I was ready to settle in and write my latest witty blog dialog. Not that anyone reads what I write but I amuse myself easily.
I grabbed the iPod, plugged in the headphones and was ready to jam to the last batch of music I downloaded.
Except they’re not on my iPod.
Spin the wheel, spin the wheel, click, click, click.
There seems to be *nothing* on my iPod. Whenever I plug my iPod in to synchronize with iTunes, iTunes closes and wants me to send a crash report to Apple.
OH MY GOD.
This is giving me flashbacks to Windows XP. Apple announced this week that they’re switching to Intel processors. We’re going to have Pentium Macs.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the dark ages.
My Apologies to Internet Explorer Users.
I was all proud of myself for tweaking my blog page last night and getting it just the way I wanted it to look. Unfortunately, due to Microsoft doing their own thing, it doesn’t render correctly in Internet Explorer. So my sidebar ends up at the bottom of the page, sans my smiling face. I don’t know if its been doing this for a long time or since I just made the changes last night.
Sigh.
Thank you for your patience, I hope to have it fixed soon. If you are currently using Internet Explorer and would like to see how this page (and the internet in general) *should* look, I highly recommend following my “Get Firefox” link to the right, er, below.
Addendum: If anyone can help me with the CSS problems I’m having with Internet Explorer, I’d really appreciate the help. Everything looks great in Mozilla based browsers, but IE is moving the floating sidebar to the bottom and I can’t figure out why!
Badge Of Status.
I’ve noticed that over the past couple of years or so it has become a status symbol in these parts to have a handicapped emblem hanging from your rear-view mirror. I somewhat understand the concept of the handicapped sticker. You have difficulty navigating from a normal parking space somewhere in the back 40 behind Wal*mart to their front door, so you get a sticker to get a parking space reserved for those with special needs. These spaces are strategically placed near said Wal*mart, usually parallel parked between the two greeters. So you go to the local city, village or town clerk, usually named Lola or Marilyn. She has glasses with lenses the size of the window over your kitchen sink. She snaps her gum, you show her your “ailment”, and voila, instant handicapped sticker.
The problem I have with these stickers is that it seems like they are appearing on everything and anything that resembles a vehicle. For example, today I saw a woman bound out of an SUV in seemingly workout attire (orange sweat top, pink sweat pants). Her Hummer II was huge, her hair was huge, her attitude was huge and she sprinted to the front door of the Wal*mart like some knock-off suburban superhero. The only ailment I could detect was the possible asphyxiation from really cheap perfume.
I hate to pry but I can’t help but wonder why in the world this woman has a handicapped sticker. Is she going to go postal and whip out a recently purchased pistol? Is she like Sybil and could change personalities at any given moment, causing her to abandon Wal*mart and head to Target? Did she sprain her ankle trying to jump out of her ridiculously sized vehicle?
I understand that there are folks out there that don’t move like they used to and really do need a handicapped sticker or license plate. They need to utilize a cane to walk. Their passenger uses a wheelchair. And they deserve the respect of a handicapped sticker because they’re out there living life to their fullest.
But to be stuck behind a Volkswagen, that is being towed by a boat, which has a jet ski mounted to the roof, which is being towed by a 30-foot Winnebago all punctuated with a set of handicapped plates is just plain wrong.
Bright Lights.
In many respects, I’m a full fledged technology geek, eager to embrace the newest and shinest gadget known to man. I’ve had a Palm Pilot. I’ve done the satellite radio thing. I boast the latest in Apple innovations.
There are some things that I just can not move to the latest and greatest with. One of those things is my alarm clock. I’ve tried numerous alarm clocks over the past 30 years or so, and many of them are neatly stored in my closet with no hope of seeing the light of day or the dark of night due to one simple reason.
They’re too damn bright.
I’ve got this thing for sleeping. It needs to be pitch black or very, very close to it. I don’t do well with lights in the room.
I have an alarm clock that I received as a gift from my grandmother in 1983. Its a digital alarm clock, in that it has little numbers that flip once a minute. Of course my OCD has kicked and I have it synchronized with the school clock collection throughout the house, so that the number flips exactly when the wall clock clicks ahead. I love this alarm clock. You can barely read its dimly lit numbers and its very retro in a General Electric sort of way. The trouble is that you can’t set the alarm to an exact time. The alarm has a dial that has time divisions for each quarter hour. You can set it at 6:00 a.m. and it’ll go off at 5:57 one day and then 6:04 the next. In that respect, it drives me crazy so it has earned a spot of prominence on my desk, where I only need to set the alarm when I’m sleeping on my desk during on call. If it goes off too late, I usually don’t give a damn.
I’ve tried the alarm clocks that display the time on the ceiling but it did nothing but fuel my fear of alien abduction. “I’m being attacked by the 2:42 aliens! Help me! Help me!”
For most of our relationship we’ve used Earl’s alarm clock from his bachelor days. (I don’t like to think of whom else has turned it off in the past before that fateful day in ’96.) It has dual alarms. It employs the good old red LED display from the late 1980s era. Another box of GE goodness. The radio reception sucks and the noise sends the cat flying every morning but for the most part it’s all good.
But once in a while I try something new. The latest addition to the nightstand is an RCA with a “warm, soothing” blue display. The alarm ramps up in volume, starting at a soft peep and working up to fire alarm howl at the appropriate time. Whomever wrote “warm, soothing blue display” on the box should be shot.
I feel like I’m sleeping in the middle of the Carrier Dome.
The first night of this clock I felt like I was drugged. Everything I dreamed was in a blue tint. Shadows of frisky felines danced across my eyelids. It was like sleeping in that boat tunnel on Willy Wonka, without the dead chicken. All that was missing was an Oompa Loompa. Then I read the fine manual, which led the way to a switch that turned on the “auto dimming” feature.
So much for that.
While I didn’t see as much blue, it still lit up the room enough to allow me the luxury of seeing what the cat actually does while we sleep. He paws Earl’s goatee, he jumps on my balls, he licks my toes and he takes a dump in the plant on the window sill. Well maybe I’m being a little demonstrative, but nighttime feline activities should be a secret and should not be lit by an alarm clock.
Back in the box you go, dear alarm clock.
So now we’re back on the bachelor clock. It’s not as sexy, but it works. At least I won’t wake up with a tan on my eyelids.
My baby! My baby!
Tonight Earl and I took the Acura to the dealership to have the rest of the accessories installed and to have the windshield replaced. It’ll be nice to finally be rid of that chip I got six miles from the dealership the night I was driving the car home on her maiden voyage. The fine folks at Crest Acura gave us a loaner car for the evening. We had the opportunity to drive home my RSX’s older brother, a 2003 Acura RSX. He has a few more miles under his tires, he isn’t quite a shiny but he drives very well. He’ll make someone very happy someday.
But I miss my baby desperately.
Earl constantly reminds me that he doesn’t get emotionally attached to cars. He can trade them in without a hint of remorse and he can walk by his cars without so much as a glance. I’m just the opposite. I fall in love with my cars. When we’re on the road together, we become one. Laughing together as we race past others on the Thruway, leaving the others in the dust. I get all emotional when I decide to trade them, no matter their track record. I even got a little misty when we traded in the ’01 Impala, even though that car cost us a mint to keep it running and it was only four years old. Whenever I’m thinking of buying a new car, I get all superstitious and whisper to others, “I’m looking at a new car”. I wouldn’t dream of raising my voice above a barely audible whisper, lest the car in the driveway hear my scheming and fight back by busting a tie rod or something.
I’m looking forward to getting the Acura back tomorrow night, new windshield in place and surrounding trucks with flying rocks be damned. It’s very difficult for a parent to be separated from their baby for the first time.
Satin Tights, Again!
Earl and I were watching TV Land yesterday afternoon when we saw an advertisement for the third season of Wonder Woman on DVD. It’s being released tomorrow (Tuesday, June 7)! When we pick it up tomorrow, I will be able to proudly proclaim that we own all the episodes of Wonder Woman in their entirety.
And then at the end of this month – its the first season of Bewitched AND the short lived Tabitha series on Bewitched.
I’m on DVD heaven.
Kick In The Pants.
I’ve been a little down on my job this week as a result of my on-call duties. This round of on-call has been busy and I don’t take sleep interruptions well. I’ve been cranky. I’ve been somewhat foul. I’ve startled those around me with a blue flair for language.
Tonight we attended a company function. It was a village-wide celebration of the 100-year anniversary of the founding telephone company I work for. The company turned the backyard of the corporate office into a huge picnic for any customer that has dial tone with the company, plus all the employees of the affiliated companies throughout Upstate N.Y. It was a very impressive affair. There were live performers, delicious food, souvenir champagne glasses and tours of the equipment and facility. Many members of the community came out to greet their neighbors, and a couple of state politicians attend the affair as well.
The group of companies is family owned and operated. The owner and president of the company gave a well received speech about the goals and achievements over the past century, and what our company has to look forward to on the road ahead. Earl and I chatted with many of my co-workers. Pleasantries were exchanged, it was all good.
It’s exactly what I needed to get my career spirits back in order. On-call doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I’m looking forward to going to work on Monday. I mentioned a couple of entries ago that I envisioned myself working for a baby Bell someday. I no longer have that vision. I’m happy where I am right now.
Crush.
We were recently talking about our first crush. I remember my first crush. I was seven years old. If I could have made out with the television without experiencing an electric shock, I would have.
My first crush was on the character Rick Mason, played by Brian Cutler on “The Secrets of Isis.” Even at seven years old, I just *knew* that he was the bees’ knees. The tossled blond hair, the mustache, the boyish charm… *sigh*
And here he is from an earlier film, “Catalina Caper”. Even 30 years later, I still find him the bees’ knees.
