Thursday, June 24, 2004
Three for One: a Chucklehut Grab Bag
In no particular order:
* Discriminating gourmands will be interested in knowing that the Ho-Ho, a traditional favorite for its crisp choklate shell, moist devilsfood kake, and kremey ambiguous frosting, has taken gluttony one small, critical step further: the Ho Ho is now available in a CAROMEL form. I can’t find a picture of it, you’ll just have to trust me. There’s a layer of sweet brown goo between the kreme and the kake. Or maybe that’s “gu,” if this product doen’t meet the FDA definition of actual goo. The review: very tasty, but three in five minutes is not recommended. However, it’s hard to avoid. And speaking of hostess products, this gave me a giggle. For extra credit, without looking it up, what’s the name of the twinkie on the twinkie wrapper? Yeah right you totally cheated. You get credit anyway. Cheating is part of the fast food test.
* For a day that I posted what I considered a fairly inflammatory screed, I got very few comments today. That’s okay, I am not posting for that purpose, but it’s an interesting barometer in a way. I also checked my site stats and saw that, once again, several people around the country were finding my site by doing a yahoo or google image search of some sort that consistently comes up with an image I posted about a year ago of a bunch of women in the shallows of a lake sticking out their naked butts in a rather saucy but not actually erotic display. It’s definitely not the most erotic butt image I’ve ever posted, but this particular picture gets hits pretty much every goddamned day. In terms of visits which I can trace to some specific interest, it outpaces the post about the second amendment. And I just wanted to say to all the people who visit this site to see pictures of girls’ naked butts, I’m sorry to disappoint you. In fact, if you have any recommendations, I’m listening.
* Yesterday HP tech support took two and a half hours on the phone with me (after half an hour on hold) before asking if they could call back today after doing a bit more research. “Sure, Samuel,” I muttered through teeth clenched in frustration and exhaustion. His name was Samuel, yes; and my other tech support representatives have been named Cathy, Jamie, Peter, and Glen. That’s right, they’ve outsourced to the british subsidiary of India, where there’s a dungeon full of native punjabi speakers being taught to sound like they grew up in Salt Lake City, some more successfully than others. I have no problem at all with the outsourcing of these jobs, and some of my tech support reps have been extremely responsive and helpful. But Samuel did not call back tonight; I gave him an hour and then made the call myself. That was 35 mintues ago as of this very moment. They told me they’d be with me within 50 minutes. I am fairly confident that I have a defective card reader, or that the reader has somehow come disconnected. Samuel took two hours to look for a software solution after I explained symptoms that could only be caused by hardware. I need to take this damn thing in while it’s still under warranty and have them connect up or replace my freaking card reader. That’s all. But first I need them to answer the phone. Only about 15 more minutes to go, now. My neck hurts. I think I’m going to ask to speak with a supervisor. And by the way, HP customer support has on-hold music that consists of one song, played over and over again: the original Eagles’ version of “Tequila Sunrise.” If you ever want to drive me immediately into a violent and unreasoning rage, start playing it within my earshot. Tequila Sunrise must be destroyed. I will dedicate the rest of my natural days, and all my spectral wanderings in the afterlife as well, to extirpating that hateful song.
(Update: I have spent half an hour with Monica working on the problem. She put me on hold - she said, for one or two minutes, just to check some “microsoft documents.” That was about ten minutes ago, Monica. I thought we had something special going, I thought you were different from the others, that you’d take me where none of them have taken me before… I feel so cheap and dirty)
(second update: Monica is now typing up documentation for a work order to service my card reader - she promises me, “one thousand percent,” that I’ll get a call tomorrow to schedule a repair. She was extremely solicitous in light of the multi-day ordeal I’ve been through, and her chirpy signoff on our telephone call was “... and you have a prosperous life ahead, sir.” Well okay, Monica, back atcha. One thousand percent. Pending that phone call coming through, of course...)
