PS

I’ve been railing about my mistreatment at the hands of the computer world. In all fairness, it hasn’t always been this way. In fact, in a time of need, the computer gods smiled upon me. It was in the early 90s. I was at a low point personally, financially and professionally. The major investor in a company I had started skipped town with company funds, not to mention millions he had scammed through the company from banks, vendors and government tax authorities. I was left holding the bag. More accurately, I was in a mile-deep hole with a ten-ton bag on top of me. I was doing what I could to dig out while fighting off the tax courts and process servers. That included freelance writing. The opportunity emerged to do an article on singles connections, which included the newborn computer sites. I glommed onto it. A few hurdles. I had no computer. I had almost no computer knowledge, having had mainframes in my businesses and they interfaced almost exclusively with my accounting, production, etc. departments. My knees had seldom been under a keyboard. I visited a friend at his office who had access to this thing called the internet, whatever that was. He turned on this large device that sat on his desk and we waited. Eventually, a box appeared on a bulky CRT monitor and he typed in some code. We waited. Icons eventually materialized on the screen. He clicked on one and we waited. “Does this thing ever actually work?” “What do you mean? It has to load.” “This is crap. It’s electricity. It moves at the speed of light. It should take like a tenth of a second.” I am not known for my patience. He shook his head and chuckled. When we did achieve connection, he showed me basic navigation. A lot of good that did. We all learn differently and my best shot is a printed page. I had told him my goal and he called up some dating sites. Amusing. I’ll digress here about the subject at hand. At the time of my financial, professional and potentially criminal (if the tax courts were able to pin my investor’s malfeasances on me) problems, what romantic relations or possibilities thereof scattered like roaches when the kitchen light comes on. Ironically, that was when I felt a need for companionship. So, the dating scene was of more interest than just the article. Okay, now I had some idea what the internet was and an inkling of how to use it. But, I still had no computer. My friend called up a few sites that retailed home versions. They sold for more than my aging car was worth. I was always worrying about how to cover my next paltry rent check for the shack where I was holed up and they wanted thousands for a box of electronics. We stepped down to the “refurbished” market. The cheapest thing I could find was barely basic and already a generation or two out of date. Beggars can’t be choosers. I used the one credit card that hadn’t been cut off, virtually ensuring its demise. The product arrived in about a week and had a wiring map that was prosaic enough for even me to understand. It took about twenty minutes to get everything plugged together. Let’s fire this mother up. I had been told that computers come with very few programs. So, it was a pleasant surprise when all kinds of games and stuff showed up on this one. Yes, it’s easy to look back and laugh at myself, now. All that crap was a Petri dish of malware. I was able to get to the web. And, with a little trial and error, I was finding the dating sites. But, drilling down to the details of each prospect often generated a protracted loading cycle, which sometimes just timed out. The processing moved with the speed of smoke. I called in markers for some free advice. That amounted to conjecture that it was choking on its own software and data to having substandard components. Diagnostics and tools weren’t what they are today and there was little I was able to do. It kind of worked okay for my writing needs, but the internet function was weak. I contacted the vendor, as it had a 30-day guarantee. Somewhat to my surprise, he said he’d make good. He vowed to send another computer. He didn’t mention returning this one and I didn’t bring it up. I did state that I didn’t want all the junk loaded onto it. That one arrived and I set it up. Per my request, it had almost no software. It even lacked a word processing program. Be careful what you wish for. Now, I was switching back and forth, hooking up the keyboard and monitor to whichever computer I was using for the function it could accomplish. And, they were both pokey as all get out. This was absurd. I can’t imagine how it occurred to me, but I got the idea of linking them together, combining the functions and maybe even enhancing the computer speed. Of course, I didn’t have a clue about how to do this. The computers had various ports and, by now, I had accumulated an impressive array of cables. Chimp logic (my specialty) dictated that you just start matching up ports with whatever cable ends fit, until you ran out of either cables or ports. Today, with greater knowledge, manuals, customer service numbers, user forums, etc., I can’t load one lousy program without running a gauntlet of ever-present issues before attaining functionality. Back then, the link-up clicked on the first blind attempt. I had two boxes humming happily away and providing my needs with alacrity. Somewhere along the line, I fell out of favor with the computer gods. But, there was a day when they looked out for me.

The final battle

It’s personal, now. Mano a machino. I against the collective acumen of hundreds of thousands of software/hardware engineers and technicians who have conspired to befuddle and exasperate anyone who enters their geeky realm. Damn the torpedoes. At the last juncture, the prudent strategy appeared to be to set up a home network. As noted, I have had previous difficulties with this. So, I set about it with tongue-jutting determination. The new computer complied, constructed a network and yielded a password to me. I dutifully printed it out, eliminating the possibility of error down the road. On the old computer, I wiped everything in networks clean. It’s the site of previous network skirmishes and who knows what wreckage remains. I began afresh and it displayed a password, which was duly recorded. Not taking a chance on whatever may lurk in the air, I connected the two with an ether cable via router. I held my breath as I called up the network configuration on the new computer. Yes! The old computer showed up. But, these things seldom end well so I delay the popping of corks. I click on the old computer icon and it requests a user name and password. User name and password for which computer or is it name for this operator but password to enter the other computer? I take my best guess and, of course, it denies access. Not a big problem since there are but three combinations left. Naturally, they all fail. I repeat the progression and still no joy. I am now faced with hours of playing around with this or possibly years. But wait, could there be a simple solution? I get on the old computer and find the menu I need. Hallelujah. There is an option to turn off password security, which I do. Back to the new box. Without a password sentry, I’m in the door on the old box. But, it is only showing files prefaced with “public.” I’d saved nothing to public. I have to copy the desired files to that. Okay, I can do this. I start with the photos, which number in the tens of thousands. That’s almost a decade of my considerable traveling. I copy and paste to the public file, holding my breath again. Yes! The little progress gauge pops up. But wait. It’s estimating a time span that will take us well into the evening. The hard drive is already circling the drain. I doubt if it will last through this and the subsequent copying to the new computer. I hit cancel. The heck with doing it the technically slick way. I wipe my external hard drive clean and download to it. If the old computer drive croaks after that, no problem. Actually, I have two external drives, one big and one small. So, I can alternate and simultaneously be downloading from the old and uploading to the new. I decide to triage, just in case the old girl crashes. Music will be the last out since most of that is captured on my iPod. Of course, that assumes when I sync it with the new computer, that computer mirrors it instead of the other way around, winding up with zilch. Big assumption. That leaves documents, pictures and video. Documents is the smallest file and probably has the most critical data, since it emanates from my brain. Or not. Regardless, it’s the first into the lifeboat. That downloads quickly into the small drive and I hook it up to the new box for uploading. The large drive gets plugged into the old computer to suck up the photos. The download box predicts a duration of hours. I check on the progress of the documents and it’s done. Before I start wiping these external drives, I make sure I can open the documents and that they haven’t arrived in some bizarre, inscrutable format. We’re golden. So, I check on the progress of the photos. It’s limping along. The old computer is flashing various warning messages, but none I haven’t seen since the drive commenced its death spiral. A watched pot never boils so I repair to the den to watch the tube and do crossword puzzles. I’m too antsy just to view television shows. The mind has to be working. At every commercial, I’m checking on the download. It’s coming along. I may pull this off. When I think the next commercial will be the end of it, the phone rings. I can tell by the number what it’s about. A friend’s father has died and I know that this concerns the funeral arrangements. I can’t blow this off. “Sorry, but I’m downloading photos. Call me back around ten with details on how you’re going to plant the poor guy.” The call ends and I go to my office. Uh-oh. The old computer is dead. Not in a sleep or power saver mode, cold dead. I power it back up, vaulting over the notices of abnormalities in the drive. When it’s done loading, I check the content of the external drive. It appears to have captured most of the data. Maybe it’s selective or possibly it can compress it somewhat. Do I attempt a second try or call it good enough? Since it appears to be exhaling its last gasp, I go with what I’ve got to try to salvage whatever video I can before it croaks. I issue the commands and am almost surprised when it begins to download. It’s an encore performance, but I’m satisfied. That is, I return to check on the progress and the screen is ebony. I resuscitate it and check the transferred data. Again, it appears most of it crossed the abyss. Or, maybe it’s some difference of measurement or whatever. At any rate, that will be the last I ask of this valiant warrior. I move the external drive over to the new computer and commence the transfer of videos. Now, it’s time for the final act. Almost like having a pet put to sleep. I haven’t decided where to donate the earthly remains, or as-is or with a new drive, or maybe just provide the organs so that a younger device may live on. But I cannot leave the data intact. I gently pat the old girl on her brow (above the CD/DVD drive) and then insert the wipe disk. She’s gone now but the memories linger on. Late nights editing video or pounding out this scree. Together, we brought happiness to others (or maybe something else). But, somewhere, in another dimension, she lives on, merrily losing data, denying access and spewing terse error messages. Farewell, my friend.

The war rages on

The war is not over. That is, the hostilities with the new computer. I was lulled into a false sense of security by the granting of web access and being able to pull up a semblance of the old Freecell game. I was actually pretty far along, thinking that the quirks of Windows 8 were the only remaining hurdles. It’s as though they polled users for what was useful and desirable in Windows 7 and eliminated those things in the new format. I can cope with change, but shouldn’t it be for the better? My mistake was thinking that the transfer of files from the old computer would be a slam dunk. What led to this erroneous conclusion was the fact that both computers contained Windows Easy Transfer and that I had already successfully used it to move the files from the old box to an external drive. Now, all that remained was to plug that drive into the new computer and upload with the Windows Easy Transfer program. What was I thinking? I plugged it in and the computer recognized a new device, according to plan. I called up Windows Easy Transfer and it cordially complied. The greeting was a simple wizard. Great. I answered a few questions followed by a click of the “Next” button and motored right along. I quickly arrived at the desired nexus. I happily issued the command to transfer. You’re probably ahead of me. Up came the error message, informing me I had insufficient disk space. Access denied! What? How could this be? It’s a brand new computer with powers and abilities beyond those of mortal boxes. I retraced my steps and wended my way through the process with the same results. And again. And again. It became apparent it wouldn’t change its mind. I backed up to where the destination drive was selected. It had chosen C. Okay, no problem. There should be room, but failing that, I knew that I had spent enough to gain the advantage of a D with room for terabytes of memory. I’m not even sure what that means but am pretty certain it indicates more space than I can imagine. Problem solved. Not so fast. The menu will not yield and insists upon dictating that the download be to a drive that it says has inadequate room, and then chides me for attempting to do so. Who writes this software, Joseph Heller? Having achieved internet connection, I have access to unlimited poor advice and misinformation. I do a search incorporating the error message and my prayers are answered. In the thousands. Apparently, Windows Easy Transfer is neither easy nor does it transfer anything for anyone. You would think that, with legions of failures documented in the ether, Windows would do something to remedy the situation. There are forums in which messages are posted with solutions. They are mostly responded to with tried-it/didn’t-work replies. Also, I would need a masters in IT from MIT before I attempted one of these, risking permanent damage to my operating system. Time to think this through which is neither an easy nor safe practice for me. The files are on the external drive. Why not just copy or move them? It sounds simple. Nothing is simple. The drive is hooked up so I click on the icon to examine the contents. The files are there but they are unnamed (in any recognizable form) and encrypted in some format I never heard of. I attempt to open one and it ain’t happening. Back to the web. I rub the magic lamp, figuratively, and ask how to decrypt or open this format. I should’ve guessed. You can’t. Or, at least not without a special program, a software engineering degree and clearance from the CIA. Thank you for playing. It seems as though I should be able to just run a cable from one box to the other and access the files. That would be too simple, but I’m off to the computer store in quest of a data transfer cable. Before making the purchase, I have the good sense to wander into the tech department to pose the question. I am directed to the “Technology Bar.” The bar turns out to be a glorified closet, in which sits a gnome who looks like he’d enjoy a spirited game of three-dimensional chess. I’d bet my new computer he rides a moped to work. But, I have hopes that he is my savior. I make my first mistake by greeting him verbally and starting to explain my problem. He waves me off and points to a computer at the portal. A card attached to it directs me to sign up for the next available place and type in my problem. We’re five feet apart and no one else is here. Can we just pretend we’re two human beings and converse? I’m pretty sure I can. But, I comply. He looks at his screen, reading my distress. He nods sagely and points to the folding chair in front of his table. I have been granted an audience. He explains that Windows Easy Transfer will only move files C to C, and will not permit selection of another destination drive. Well thanks for walking me through that, Socrates, but I think that’s what I just keystroked to you. What I need is a solution. I have unconsciously leaned across the table getting in range of his chicken neck. It seems to motivate him. He reels off a half a dozen ways to accomplish this in rapid fire speech. I’m pretty sure he’s speaking English, but I don’t understand a word of it. Most of it involves additional devices and setting up networks, which I haven’t had stellar results with. “Why can’t I just run a wire from one box to the other and access the files I want?” “You can but you still have to set up a network.” “But I don’t want to set up a network.” He shrugs. Then, a look creeps across his fish belly white face. I harbored the prayer that there was a simple fix and this has got to be it. “There is a way to just connect them with a wire and do it as simply as you want to.” I knew it! “How?” “Well, it’s a special cable. You pull the hard drive from your old computer and hook it up to the new one.” So now I’m taking apart computers for starters. And that’s simple. “Forget that. Look, you’ve talked with me for ten minutes and have probably figured out that I can barely find the word program on Windows 8. What do you recommend I do?” He suggested buying a wireless router and setting up a network for the transfer. I bought it and came home, but was too drained to attempt to pull the rabbit out of the hat today. The battle rages on.

Leave it at the door

We had a situation on our club web site that fortunately resolved itself. I’m not always that lucky and sometimes have to take action. One person posted a message and another, who differs from the first in the political spectrum, used the opportunity to get in a dig. Not even those who fall in that political camp deemed it appropriate. We’re about fun and people don’t want others dragging their own issues onto the stage. Leave it at the door. I wasn’t so fortunate on a recent group trip. There were a few instances where people chose to reflect their issues, making the group uncomfortable. They did it under the guise of “just kidding,” “it needed to be asked or pointed out,” or some other ruse, but no one is fooled by the thinly veiled acrimony. A number of the participants came to me to express how uncomfortable this made them feel. In one case, it was far from the first offense and I banned that person from future events. I don’t know what they were thinking. Was it that they imagined the group would turn against someone who had gone to considerable trouble and expense for their benefit and embrace those who offered absolutely nothing except negatives and disruption? Fat chance. Sometimes you have to clean up the mess, although I know leaders who won’t. You have to consider the welfare of the group. If someone attacks me on our web site, another web forum or whatever, I generally ignore it and leave them out on the limb looking foolish. Few, if any, take the message to reflect on the target. Rather, they look at it as the message poster having a problem. Therefore, I usually don’t care. But, if I receive feedback that it’s upsetting the group, I have little choice but to take action. Today, the target made the person introducing the issue look even more inane, so I didn’t have to do anything. I don’t kid myself that will be the last of it. Issues people don’t seem to take the cue. Do yourself a favor. Before you drag your issues into a situation where they are unwelcome, leave it at the door. You don’t want to look like “that guy.”

Resumption of the war with computers

Up to this point I’ve more than less accepted responsibility for my computer challenges. It’s a combination of my own quirks and being a product of another age. But, no more. I’ve been too conciliatory about this. It’s time to come out and state the unassailable truth. And that would be that the people who create hardware and software possess the communication skills of a block of quartz. I hope I’m not being ambiguous about my position. I recently had to change computers. I put it off as long as possible, but the hard drive was sending signals that it was about to put itself into a hospice. I could’ve performed an organ transplant, updating a few other components in the process, but the effort would be on a par with migrating to a new one. And, you still wind up with a box that’s a few years, which is to say, prehistoric in the IT world. Selecting and setting up the new system was one of the more traumatic episodes of my life. I’d rather sandpaper a rabid panther’s anus in a phone booth, but wasn’t granted the choice. I won’t impose upon you with the protracted saga of sorrows, but will select one minuscule sliver that exemplifies the whole. I had saved most of my program disks in a more or less (mostly less) organized fashion. But, moving to Windows 8 nullified some of them, in spite of assurances from the publishers to the contrary. Some offered solutions that “incomprehensible” wouldn’t begin to describe. If I was capable of understanding these technical gyrations, much less performing them, I would’ve built my own equipment and written the software. In this isolated case I’m using to embody the overall experience, I gave up and bought a new program. The gaudy box promised not only the original content (scant, if the truth be told, which they chose not to do), but that I could obtain a thousand times that as a bonus by visiting their web site, free of charge. Do people still believe anything is free? This is obviously a ploy to coerce my personal data for future promotion. So, I loaded the software, in spite of the fact that the process barely resembled the instructions, which appeared to apply to some previous version. Along the way, I was presented with numerous decisions in a language that resembled English only in the characters it employed. Most choices were made with the flip of a quarter. With a little trial and error, and the better part of an hour, it seemed to be functioning. The program included a video “tutorial” which essentially said that they really couldn’t explain anything in ten minutes and I’d have to go to the voluminous manual on their site to accomplish much beyond opening the program. Of course, I’d have to register (provide personal information) to access that. Having attained “liftoff,” it was time to collect the freebie. I clicked the button on the screen and was whisked to the site. As anticipated, it required the surrendering of my name and other particulars. Having defeated me on that account, they graciously flashed the screen with the promised bonus content. But, it showed only a “buy now” button. I backed up and repeated the approach several times to ascertain if I had missed a fork in the road. Not so. I crept into the purchase process to see if a free option emerged. The only possibility I could detect was the box for a coupon code. I turned the software carton inside out but could locate no coupon. So, I clicked the customer service tab. As is usually the case, they tried to deflect me to a FAQ solution, which I wrestled with for a while. Finding no joy there, I drilled down until they relented with a contact page. They are always reluctant to allow you to communicate with the man behind the curtain. I filled in the blanks and clicked send. The button faded but nothing else happened until the page timed out. I repeated the process several times with the same result. I searched the web for a solution. I didn’t find one but did locate a forum of rants which contained a customer service email address. I used that and, miracle of miracles, received the automated response that I would get a real response in the near future. Wonders haven’t ceased. The next day, I got an email that directed me to one of several incomprehensible lines in the set-up instructions. It had no description or label, so how would anyone know it was a coupon code? I returned to the purchase process and inserted the code. The page liked it and gave me the go ahead to download, which I did. It showed one of those progress meters but didn’t divulge where it was downloading to. No additional content showed up in my computer’s files. It’s a new computer so it isn’t like it could be a needle in a haystack. Back to the customer service email. The response was that at the bottom of the download page, which you would have to scroll down to see and who does that, there is a line that tells you what file it’s going to (which is buried deep within the purchased program) and gives you the option of it then automatically loading into the software I had purchased. I found the line, in a font readable only with an electron microscope. Having not seen it, I hadn’t checked the box that would’ve executed the next step of adding it to the program menu. Back to my new friend in customer service. He instructed me to unzip it, saving it to a file within the program, specifying the exact name of that file. After some gyrations with Windows 8, it finally coughed up the documents page and I could find no such folder. But, there was a similar one that contained the other initially provided content, so I unzipped and downloaded to it. Fine, but it still didn’t show up on the program menu. I hated to bother my new friend in customer service, but had no choice. He said I had to find the “add” button in the program and specify that file. I did and added that file. Or, thought I did. It did not appear in the menu. I repeated a couple times with no success. More correspondence with customer service. It would’ve been helpful if he had passed along all the steps up front. I could almost hear the sigh in his email. He said it would be called ______ in the menu, a name different from the file. And how is anyone supposed to connect those dots? So, problem solved. But wait, as they say on TV ads, don’t respond yet. There’s more. The package had contained a second disk with more bonus content. I loaded that and an additional program icon appeared on my desktop. Huh? It had loaded the free trial version of the program, not additional content as the disk was labeled. Just what I needed, a duplicate to eat up drive space. Well, not a duplicate since the trial version was so prosaic as to almost have no function. Loading just one program consumed the equivalent of a lip-biting workday. You can extrapolate to imagine the entire process. Now, all that remains is mastering Windows 8. If that works out, I’ll shoot for creating peace in the Middle East.

Closure

If you’ve had your fill of my pre-trip babbling, especially about gear issues, you won’t like this. Bail out now and save yourself. I achieved closure today with a trip to the tailor to pick up something I left for alteration. The saga began late last summer, during my trip to Alaska. There is an affliction I coined Guide Fever. When people engage an outfitter to take them on a wilderness trek, they tend to assume that the gear employed by the guide is the ultimate. When they return to civilization, they rush out to buy duplicates of whatever the guide wore or used. Some of the participants of this trip fell prey to that. I did not succumb, although I won’t claim it was because of strength of resolve. The guides actually had pretty crappy stuff. The crew of the boat that shuttled us out to our launch point has some flashy duds but, in the absence of making a guest appearance on “Deadliest Catch,” I saw little point in following their lead on extreme foul weather gear. My Achilles Heel did not emerge until the end of the trip when we boarded a bus that would take us from Seward back to Anchorage. There, I encountered a young man wearing the absolutely coolest hiking pants I have ever laid eyes upon. They bore a couple graphic icons but no wording that would reveal the brand. I didn’t hesitate to ask him. He smiled pleasantly and responded in a language that might’ve been English. The German, Austrian Dutch or whatever accent was far too thick for me to discern. I feigned partial deafness (not a stretch for me) and repeated the question. He repeated the smile and response. I returned the smile, just as though I understood. I turned to my companions and asked what he had said. They laughed and shrugged. Rats! The unresolved issue nettled me. And, I’m not one who surrenders easily. When I got home, I did web searches for “hiking pants,” appending the name of various countries. It was an arduous task but I finally surfaced the page of a manufacturer that displayed the product I sought. It was not in English, but that hardly mattered. I could apply a translation option but that would do little good if the product wasn’t available here. So, the next search was the brand name with “U.S.” appended. Darn few outlets came up and those that did asked stroke-inducing prices. With so few outlets on this side of the pond, discount sources were unlikely. I tried, but came up empty. There was no way I was going to pay a healthy three-figure price for a pair of hiking pants. So, I reluctantly curtailed the search. I am on a restricted list of people who receive weekly (more or less) notifications of discounts on quality outdoor goods. A couple weeks ago, and much to my surprise, this brand showed up. I feverishly clicked through to that page and found a variety of their products at substantial discount. Eureka, the mother lode! I decided on a pair of pants. The waist sizes were provided but not the inseam. This is an issue for me because manufacturers seem to think I should have longer legs for my girth. Their minimum inseam is usually a couple inches too long. So, I’m well familiar with the options. If they have the adjustable cuffs, I can cinch those down and go with a baggy look in the legs. If not, I can roll up the cuffs or go to the expense of a tailor. Or, I can do some Kentucky tailoring (walk around in them until the excessive material shreds away). The pants arrived last week and I eagerly pulled them on, expecting the two-inch surplus of leg. Wrong. They must assume that someone of my width jumps center for the Lakers. If the legs had been an inch longer, the cuffs would’ve been in another room. So, it was off to the tailor. I picked them up today, ending the epic quest on a high note. Wait, not so fast. I wash clothing before putting it into service. I located the laundry warning tag. Yes, it had the universal symbols. Unfortunately, four lines of them, each contradicting the others. Under each one was a line of a different language. Do laundry practices vary by country? Doesn’t matter. None of the languages was English so I have no idea which applies. It never ends.