Blog Archives
Tech Support Follow-Up: “It’s worse”
Now that I’ve upgraded the operating system on my laptop, I find that my printer no longer works. Neither Apple nor HP can offer any suggestions, beyond “buy a new printer.” See, my printer is too old (five years — practically stone age) to have a print driver in the sexy new Lion operating system. I wonder what’s next. Maybe my new RAM will father some lambs or I’ll have a complete plug-in failure. Worse, I may finally be forced to crack that nasty bottle of blackberry brandy Aunt Muriel sent us as a wedding gift in 1990.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Help me Technical Support. You’re my only hope.
I’ll admit it. Technology has gotten away from me. Every innovation, each update, every new feature sends me into an angst fueled emotional crisis; vodka bottles are drained, the medicine cabinet must be locked, and Dr Feelgood Feldman rises to the top of my speed dial list, or whatever we’re calling that now — iFriendFone, iTalkieFavorites, iSpeedyDial, I don’t fucking know.
Facebook mystifies me. Can you or can’t you send a private message to one of your friends? If you can, why not just email? Isn’t the point of Facebook to make your every breath, utterance and rest stop into a public holiday? And why does my page now look like it was laid out by an ADHD-addled first-year graphic design student with a psychotic disorder and an astigmatism? I can’t find ANYTHING on my own page. So I never look at it. Ever.
I can just about cope with Twitter, though I have no idea what the point is. Tumblr, I am told, is a new social media must, as is Pinterest. I tried to set up a Pinterest account but they put me on a waiting list. Apparently it’s very exclusive — some kind of virtual country club or ivy league college. Later, they sent me a congratulatory email when they magnanimously bestowed an account upon me. Am I supposed to feel thrilled at being included? Again, I don’t fucking know. And I don’t much care. After fifteen hours of trying to find some kind of technical support I gave up. The social media world will have to spin without me.
Hardware poses even greater challenges. While others eagerly seek the newest, shiniest, most cutting edge gizmos on the market, I sit pining for my Palm Pilot and the long dead Vindigo application. I know there are other ways to find a piano bar near 70th and Park, or a shoe repair shop within limping distance of Gand Central, or a bathroom in the Financial District, but they’re all different applications. I just want my one source, and the late Vindigo was it.
I recently got an iPhone because I wanted one simple thing: to be able to see the same calendar and address book on my phone and my laptop. That’s it. Instead, the simple act of syncing my phone to my laptop unleashed a tsunami of technical difficulties requiring no fewer than six calls to APPLECARE, a $50 operating system upgrade for my computer and a $150 RAM upgrade. I got the phone a month ago and I still haven’t figured out how to keep it from duplicating every appointment in my calendar and switching the listings from last-name-first to first-name-first. Nor can I color code the events in my calendar without a slide rule, an HTML brain implant and a TIME MACHINE.
What it really comes down to is this: technology exhausts me. So much so, in fact, that I can barely cope with my own little blog. For example, what is an RSS feed and how do I use it? If I add it to my site, what will the implications be? If I click it on someone else’s post will it inundate me with unwanted comments, put cookies in my laptop (sure there are plenty of crumbs in there, but a whole cookie strikes me as a bit too much), or worse, send loads of unwanted Spam my way? I hate Spam. How come other bloggers have RSS feeds and I don’t?
Here’s what WordPress has to say on the subject of RSS.
Subscribing to a feed is very easy and only requires a feed reader. Most browsers can already read feeds, as can many email clients. In addition, you can download special desktop clients for this purpose, and other websites even provide feed reading services, as well.
Feed reader? Clients? When did I get clients? I don’t want clients — that’s why I stopped working in business. Are desktop clients different from regular ones? Will they be expecting cookies? I have absolutely no idea what any of this this means, so I looked it up in my Dummies book. Here’s what they have to say:
“RSS is a format that allows readers to subscribe to your blog and read it in an application — an RSS reader such as Google Reader…The best way to keep track of your RSS subscribers is to replace the RSS feed created by your blogging platform with a feed from Google’s free FeedBurner service…etc.”
Feedburner service? Sounds like dinner with my inlaws. I’ll spare you the five step process for affecting this change. It’s full of redirects, logins to accounts I don’t have and hyperlinks. For example: “Use the new Feedburner address in the hyperlink for your Subscribe button or link, not the original one created by your software.” Is it me? Can you follow this?
All of this is entirely too much like a flashback of sophomore Geometry, which I slogged through for what seemed like decades and barely managed to pass. It was all well and good when we were looking at shapes and vectors and points and angles, but then one day we turned to theorems and proofs, and we might as well have been talking about feedburner plug-ins.
Interestingly, the following year I scored highest in my class on some kind of standardized math exam. At the time, owing to some very high grade under the counter substances, I couldn’t even recall taking it. The teacher gave me a filthy, accusatory look, like I’d been hiding algorithms in my bra, and promptly started calling on me in class, which made it a lot harder to skip doing my homework.
So I’m wondering, if by some remote chance I master RSS, SEO, XML, DNS and the myriad other ingredients in the electronic soup of the world wide interweb, does that mean I’ll have to start showing up for class and turning assignments in on time? If it does, I’m out.
With props for inspiration to the tallest and the baddest, our own Cristy Carrington.
The Bitch is Back
Nadia G’s Bitchin’ Kitchen
Capsule Review: Oh God, make it stop!
If you’re like me, you probably wonder what would happen if Pee Wee Herman married Snookie, they had a baby and then they set up housekeeping. On Riker’s Island. Well tax your brain no further; I have the answer. They’d have named the offspring Nadia G and you’d be watching her on Bitchin’ Kitchen.
Now, I get it. She’s a comedienne and a chef, she cooks in stilettos (gasp!) and has a zany cast of characters. Sound familiar? But the show’s on the Cooking Channel, and holy good God, how can you even begin to pay attention to what she’s cooking (cookin’?) with all that adenoidal yammering, scenery chewing and gesticulating going on all at once? Makes me feel like I’m having a grand mal seizure after about forty seconds. And it’s not even funny.
My advice: mix yourself a margarita and stick with Pee Wee, the original and still the best.
Not even if you paid me
Well maybe if you paid me in Dom Perignon…Nah, not even then.
I’m not going to enable the attention-getting behavior of that rat’s-ass crazy chick who posed on the cover of Time with her three year old hanging off her left breast by reprinting the photo. I’m sure by now the image is forever seared on your consciousness, just as it is mine. I’m also certain I won’t be the first person to point out that breastfeeding a child who can pull up his own pants, conjugate verbs in the past tense, and program the TiVo has more in common with molestation than meal time, but if your primary goal for your kid is to end up on top of the library tower in 15 years with a hunting rifle in his hand and a clothespin on his penis, nursing him until he goes to middle school strikes me as a pretty effective way to start.








Pushing the Rambettes
May 20
Posted by WSW
When exactly did the humble baby stroller become a Humvee?
Outta my way shitbirds, or I’ll light you up like Sesame Street on a Saturday night.
Courtesy graphicshunt.com.
Damned if I know. For the past fifteen years, I’ve been out of the stroller game and otherwise occupied with the usual assortment of science fair crises, bake sale scrambles, emergency room visits (not all mine), tween angst and teen drama. Lately, however, I find I spend a lot of time thinking about prams and the like, more often than not because I am either tripping over one, cleaning a gaping wound on my extremeties caused by one, or popping some totally legitimate prescription pain medication to treat the back strain caused by helping some poor babysitter hump a fully loaded carriage up the subway stairs. Apparently boss mamas are not overly concerned about the portability of their perambulators as it’s just the help who have to hoist them; Mama drives to Fairway.
Also keeping the stroller top-of-mind is the recent phenomenon of sidewalk shrinkage in my neighborhood and the metropolis generally. How else to explain the daily barked shins, crushed toes and human gridlock I experience virtually everywhere I go? Now I’m willing to admit that I may take up just a tad more space than I once did, but my expanded girth cannot be solely to blame for the constant squeeze play that a stroll on a city street has become.
It’s not me, you see; it’s the baby strollers. Not only are there more than I can ever remember seeing, but they have become larger, heavier and far more pimped out than in my day. Here’s what the little Slattern rode in way back when:
Elegantly minimal. $20 and weighing roughly as much as a large bag of Peanut M&Ms.
These days coffee cup holders, running boards, back seats, iPod jacks, cargo holds, satellite uplinks and monthly detailing all appear to come standard. As far as I can tell, modern carriages do not push themselves, which would be an upgrade worth paying for, yet they clearly cost an arm and a leg. Curious to find out exactly what kind of prices these things currently fetch, I took a sniff around Baby Depot, where I had to slog through over 100 models to find anything priced below $200. The top of the line: $1,099.99 for the Switch Four Modular System, which is probably what Jonny Quest rode in. This of course begs the question, Who pushed it, Race Banon or Dr Quest? Also, where did Hadji sit or did he have to walk behind the stroller? Was there a place for Bandit?
But I digress.
Horrified as I was at the stickers on these things, I was all afire to find out how high they went. You would not believe what I found. The highest priced one I saw was a $4,500 model called the Roddler from Kid Kustoms. That’s right, five large by the time you pay tax and shipping. Check it out:
Baby Vader’s wheels courtesy Kid Kustoms.com
Look at the front end of that thing. Get within two inches of it and it’ll peel your shin like an apple. Of course the afterburn from the rear thrusters could conceivably have a cauterizing effect, so maybe it really is worth the cost of a semester at one of our finer state universities.
Now, in fairness, it must be pointed out that the Roddler is fully customizable and comes in a variety of fun colors and finishes, including ostrich leather. At least I think it does. According to the website, a substance that looks remarkably like ostrich hide is listed as “Ostridge Skin.” See?
I couldn’t make this stuff up, folks.
Déclassé as I apparently am, I don’t see the appeal of Ostridge products or, mayhaps I am not completely up to date with the luxury market. (I did look up Ostridge, but the definition I found in the Urban Dictionary was so disgusting I can’t bring myself to link to it. In any case, spelled that way it’s a VERB.) What I probably need is to have a Kardashian ‘splain it all to me. Apparently one of them – Klamydia I think – pushes her little bundle of joy around in a Roddler, though whether his ride is tricked out in quilted leather or Ostridge is anybody’s guess. Clearly, though, the Roddler is a must-have for hot moms in the dough.
You’d think that this might be the end of it, but all this research, in addition to giving me a vicious thirst that only a double vodka can slake, has led me to ask one final question, namely “What next?” A little more internet digging, and I think I’ve found out. Soon to dent your shins, obstruct your path and break your nanny on a sidewalk near you, behold the Rambette…
The next evolution of the baby stroller, the Rambette, courtesy designbuzz and NATO.
I’m going to have to start taking my broomstick everywhere.
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Posted in Commentary, Life and times, The Slattern Speaks
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Tags: Baby, Baby transport, Humor, Jonny Quest, Kid Kustoms, Ostrich, Rambo, Roddler