Thursday, September 27, 2007

Giggidy-Giggidy

It’s been a tough few weeks for Chuckles—working too much, travelling too much and not enjoying it nearly enough, not sleeping well, not eating healthy.  On the plus side, a few weeks ago I was finally able to get a replacement for the now-broken CD player my uncle had sent to me when he stopped listening to it - five years old and out for the count; the new one is no prettier but one hell of a lot more functional, and the remote is friendlier too.  At the same time, I got a little iPod dock to enable direct output through my stereo, which is a great convenience - no more shuffling five disks at a time to keep the mix going, I can just play all my music with the click of a button on the remote from across the room.  The only onion in that ointment would be that the ‘pod itself seemed to be dying.

I had gotten it FOR FREE as a gift FOR FREE from a very very dear friend who, I think, had gotten it FOR FREE as part of some high-tech corporate swag he gets as a high-tech corporate swagmeister.  I’ve had it since April 2004 and we’ve played it pretty much daily since then - mostly while out and about, occasionally on vacation with portable speakers and most recently through the iHome clock radio setup and the new Kensington pod-dock for the stereo.  Most all my music lives on it and I felt pangs of hardship when the battery started dying faster and faster and the damn thing became effectively unusable.  I could barely ride the bus to work without draining a full battery charge; I’d given up going running with it as it so quickly gave out on me. 

I’d taken it to the local Apple store for a diagnosis; they confirmed that it was a battery issue and I’d need to send it back to the company.  This happens with sufficient regularity that they’ve developed a special program for battery issues - you pay about $70 US and send in your old busted-battery ‘pod, and then they send you back a reconditioned identical one with a fresh new-style battery.  It’s a trade-out program and I was ready to trade, so I sent in my beloved musicmaker, carefully wrapped in cushiony bubblewrap, with authorization to charge me the agreed-upon fee.

A few days later I got an email - Apple couldn’t replicate the problem and was sending my ‘pod back unrepaired.  When I checked the “repair status” link it told me that I didn’t have a battery problem.  Then when the package was delivered, containing the good ol’ ‘pod securely packed in foam and bagged in plastic, an enclosed form letter told me that I had an unrelated hardware problem and nothing would be done about it. 

I was frustrated and confused.  I tried to use the ‘pod again but it still drained out a full charge in less than an hour - much less, if I scrolled the menus at all.  It was a 40-month-old 15-gig machine, far off the tech forefront, but I still really wanted it to work.  I didn’t understand the paperwork that told me why it still was broken so I made another appointment at the Apple Store and brought it back yesterday for further assistance. 

Staff members were sympathetic and looked my paperwork over carefully.  I’d brought it back in the box in which Apple had re-shipped it to me; it clearly hadn’t been damaged in transit.  As I explained the situation and the symptoms, naturally, the battery didn’t exhibit the quick-drain I’d reported - but there was no skepticism about my claims.  They favored me with a brow-furrow and told me they’d see what they could do. 

Several minutes passed, marked mostly by very pushy people charging the “Genius Bar” counter (where they offer tech assistance and where I was waiting) with snippy demands for immediate attention and assistance.  I waited as patiently as I could, peoplewatching and reading notes out of my little notebook.  My “genius” came back agreeing that a replacement was in order but that, sadly, my old 15-gigger was obsolete and they didn’t have one to trade out.  Would I be okay if they gave me a 30-gig instead?

Yes.  Yes I would.  Thanks for asking, but Yes. 

My genius went away, then came back and told me they didn’t have a 30-gig for me.  He sent me over to another genius, a genius captain no less, who would process my trade-out.  As I waited across the counter from him, occasionally checking my watch but biding my time, bitchy whiners kept coming up to pester and compain at him.  He always answered courteously but I could see he was getting annoyed.  I tried to keep out of his way.  He eventually walked away to get my replacement unit but it took him a long time to get back to me. 

“I’m sorry,” he explained, “You’ve been really patient and you’ve done everything you could to resolve this.  We appreciate how much of your time and energy this is taking.  However, I’m not finding a 60 gig unit for your upgrade-upgrade.  I’m going to upgrade your upgrade-upgrade, if you’re okay with that.  How about a video-enabled 80-gig model?  Black or white?”

I suppressed an audible gulp.  “Black,” I replied, as firmly as I thought prudent.  I was not about to look a gift ‘pod in the docking port, but I was going to hold fast to my identity as a patient but still unfulfilled customer.  Within a few minutes he’d finished the deal and handed over a small cardboard box containing more potential for portable music, video and photos than I’d ever imagined I’d have.  “One more thing,” he mentioned as I signed the receipt.  “Since your repair slip wasn’t just suspended but was actually closed, I’m not going to open a new work order.  That means this replacement will be made without the standard $70 charge.  Thanks again for choosing Apple.” I looked him in the eye and somehow worked up the breath to utter the words, “You’re welcome.” And he was. 

I charged my gleaming new ‘pod for a few hours at my desk and spent some of my time last night loading my full 18 or 19 gigs of music onto it.  Previously I’d had to turn some of my music “off” because it didn’t all fit my little old iPod.  Now, it’s all on, baby, 24-7 and 28.25 in February.  I even loaded in some new stuff, and listened to it on the bus on the way to work.  The display is bright and unscratched and full of brilliant color.  The sound is clear and crisp and nice and loud.  The interface is a few evolutionary steps beyond where I’d started, and the damn thing looks super slick. 

So that’s my happy story for yesterday.  Sure, we had ants invading the kitchen, and the boy threw tantrums morning and evening, and the overall stress level is still somewhere between my eyebrows and my saggital suture, but dammit, I scored 65 new gigs of fully-powered media capacity.  I think I may still have some karma to make up on the universal tallies, but I’m probably going to come out ahead on this one. 

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Shipshape, PLUS EXCITING UPDATE

Oh man, this has not been an easy day so far.  Leaving the gym this morning I noticed that, for the first time in months, it was still dark at 6:30.  I got back home to find that we’d had an ant invasion and spent the rest of the prep-time portion of my morning working with Kel to rectify things, poison my kitchen, and get Z fed, diapered and dressed as he very thoroughly tested our patience and boundaries in every way he could possibly imagine (and he’s an imaginative little cuss).  I got to work unshowered, unbreakfasted, and uncalm. 

How about this: I’ll try to share a moment I experienced a month or so ago, when I noticed what had apparently been before my blinkered eyes for years on end already but which I had never, apparently, seen.  That’s the sort of thing that might help me overcome my present state of irritation, and maybe even encourage me to find a way to enjoy myself today.  It’s worth a shot, anyway.  So:

Written as my bus pulled up:

I’ve stood at this stop hundreds of times over dozens of years and more, and, looking across the street, I’ve only noticed the blocky entrance grate and the big garish triangular metal marquee and the place where the Red Gorilla sign used to be stuck the to façade of the building but it’s now just a gluey smear on the wall.  That’s all I ever noticed – and now, today, I look up across the street and the sun is casting just right; and the storefronts to the left and right are both somehow darkened in shadow, but this building directly across the street from me is brightly lit, and on the wide section of wall between the two simple, unornamented top-floor windows, I discover a medallion frieze – a circular vignette of a sailing ship with sixteen sails, three masts, billowing waves rolling and breaking under her prow, a wide sky of magnificent cumuli.  I can almost see it in color, though it’s all just concrete and flat beige paint.  It seems to bell right out from the blank plaster face of the blank empty building; it seems to be sailing right out at me. 

All those years, and I never noticed it.  And today, goddamn it, I finally did.  I wonder what else I’ve overlooked. 

UPDATE: I wrote that little bit of text a month or so ago, and just transcribed it to the blog yesterday morning.  Late that afternoon I headed home by way of a brief visit with a friend at our favorite hanging-out park, and then headed toward the nearest bus stop - the one across from the little maritime frieze I’d just described for the world.  The building was shrouded in scaffold hung with cloth, but I was able to discern through the construction chaos that the top floor of the structure, where the little ship made its motionless journey for decades, had been completely removed.  I could see on the two adjacent buildings, signs of demolition going up several feet on their in-facing walls, and what had been a modest four-story office structure was now a three-story tear-out site.  Above the third floor, the roofline was jagged and rough, with rebar occasionally poking out to prod the sky like skeletal fingers reaching up from some Wes Craven grave.  The ship had sailed.  I’m just glad I caught it while I had the chance. 

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Club?  What Club?

The First Lesson of ____ Club is: Never Talk About ____ Club.

* Book
* Turkey
* The ®