Fishing For Seats, Running For Flights

This past weekend was a somewhat serendipitous affair. The big hoopla was that I was flying down to Atlanta to visit my best friend Matthew, his loverly wife Taz (Latashia), and their newborn son Zach. Our long-time friend Mark--the three of us have known each other since we were three-year-old pissants in nursery school pissing in diapers and on ants--was also down for the ride, though our trips only intersected on Friday and half of Saturday.

Saturday, the 9th of May, was supposed to be the big event: We were going to drive down to Philips Arena to watch LeBron James and the Cavs take on Joe Johnson/Josh Smith/Mike Bibby and their Atlanta Hawks in Game 3 of the NBA Eastern Conference Semi-finals. Let's rewind a bit to Sunday, when I was having dinner with my folks for my dad's 37th birthday (yes, we like to make our parents feel young). I get a message from Matt to get my tickets for the game ASAP--they had gotten two tickets in Section 109, Row Q. I panicked and started Blackberrying Ticketmaster, trying to procure a sacred, precious golden ticket. After numerous failed attempts and a dash to my PC after returning home from dinner, I finally found one that wouldn't break my wallet (at least, relative to the other ticket prices I had been seeing) in Section 109, Row K. Great--at least we would be near each other.

Flash forward to Saturday. We make it through the crawling Atlanta traffic and come to find out that the tickets which had been sent to Matt were for Atlanta Hawks Home Game 3... instead of just plain old Game 3... which means that he had been given tickets for Game 6.

Well shit, let's confuse our customers by mixing and matching game numbers. Caveat emptor: When buying tickets for sporting events online, and the event is one in a multi-game series that involves different locations, such as the NBA Playoffs in which each round lasts a maximum of seven games and each of the games is played in one of two locations each of which is home to one of the two teams involved, MAKE SURE THE TICKETS ARE FOR THE CORRECT GAME. If they say "Home Game 3", ask them, "Which game overall?" They probably relish the fact that they can confuse consumers this way and rile you up. I swear, companies just like to throw random obstacles your way even though they know that they'd probably make more money if you had just made things easier. Seriously, the iPhone doesn't have a landscape keyboard? Really? Then again, Apple's making money hand over fist already... but I digest.

So we're standing outside the arena like a bunch of wilted asparagus as Matt first tries to plead his case with the unrepentant customer service rep, then with the disembodied voice at the other end of the phone representing stubhub.com (from where he procured his tickets), to finally hear that, yes, he would be getting his money back. So what to do now? I'm sitting here with a $85 ticket ($100 after Uncle Sam and the Internet Surcharge Monster gang-raped my credit card), not willing to sell it because my name's on it (yeah, I'm paranoid, but do you know how much random information someone can get by entering your full name into websites that really should not know or give out the information that they do?). Unrepentant Customer Service Rep (yes, I've turned him into a proper noun) is selling "standing room only" tickets, which means that, for $30 per person, you may be escorted to the back of a section where you may stand and watch the game from high up. The added benefit is that you're in the heavens, and the farther you get from hell, the better, I suppose.

(That's right: Commit all the sins you want, and for $30, you can still get into heaven as long as it's during the NBA Playoffs. Unless you're an atheist or something else. Then I suppose all you get is a shitty view of a landmark basketball game. Which is likely what I would have gotten, except maybe Buddhism has a similar concept to heaven that I don't know about or forgot because I'm not very religious sorry mom and my memory measures somewhere between a brick and a goldfish, but again I digress.)

In any event, I said that as long as we're here, we might as well buy two standing room tickets and Taz could have my ticket and seat. The lady just bore child; you think she deserves to stand on her feet for 2.5 hours straight when she's not even supposed to be jogging yet, even a little? Shame on you. In any event, the idea was sold, and we got onto the Chinese line. Read: not really a line, but a mess of people who try to funnel into a single door and usually end up pushing and shoving to get in--ever been in the NYC Subway?--except this isn't China so instead of pushing and shoving, everyone just slowly merged and tried to inch past each other... somebody probably had his ass groped, and the person groping his ass probably thought he was a she, and the gropee probably thought the groper was a she, but ha ha, isn't the joke on them. Anyway. We separated and vowed to meet each other again, in this life or the next. (Name that movie. Hint: I had to Google it because I forgot where it was from. Well that wasn't much of a hint, was it...) Taz went to the fabled seat of 109 Row K, and Matt and I headed up K7 to watch LeBron execute actions that we wouldn't quite be able to make out because we were standing in the back behind people with bigass heads and a self-serving sense of pride at not having to be a "standing room only" plebe.

Then it happened. We were looking cross-court at Section 109, where Taz was sitting, trying to scope out seats, when we saw an entire half-row of seats waiting to be stolen one section over in 108. She then sent us a text message, saying, "Whole lotta seats down here." I, with beer in hand, followed Matt with--well--nothing, since he actually takes care of his body while I'm a slug, and we head down and around the arena to the fabled emptiness. We walk in but waited a bit too long to make our right turn, though I have an excuse in that I simply had no goddamn idea where to go, and the result was that Friendly Seat Guardian guy asked us, "Excuse me, where are your seats?"

Foresight rules, though original intent doesn't reflect actual use. Basically: I had printed an extra copy of my ticket in case I misplaced the first one. So, while I had given Taz the original printout, I had the Xerox (ok nerds, I know the correct term is "photocopy" because "Xerox" is a brand name, just like it's "tissue" and not "Kleenex", but "Xerox" is faster to type than "photocopy" so I guess this whole parenthetical was counter-intuitive to my goals; just shoot me now). This magical XEROX was used for a purpose for which it was not originally made: It was shown to Friendly Seat Guardian guy, who deemed me worthy of entry. Since Matt was with me, he assumed that we were together, which was a correct assumption. We made our way to Section 109, went across the stairs to 108, and claimed our rightful spots in the half-row free in 108, around 100 feet away from the basket. Taz later joined us, and though my head darted around looking for security or the "true" owners of those seats we were in, we were able to sit through the entire game as LeBron James made a whole shitload of what would normally be ugly jumpers en route to a 47-point, 12-rebound and 8-assist thrashing of the Hawks. Zaza Pachulia got thrown out for menacing the refs, and even though the Hawks tried to play him (and the team) up to be Rocky Balboa (clips of Rocky followed by Zaza in a hoodie quoting Rocky with his charmingly/disgustingly [depending on whether you love or hate him] crooked Slavic accent), people apparently forgot that Rocky actually loses in the first movie. But all that is irrelevant. This was about the great seats.

Score.

If you know me on Facebook, you can see some (shitty) action shots I got. If you don't, well, too bad.

In any event, Monday was a sad day as I had to leave Matt, Taz and little baby Zachary Austin (yeah bitches, I was honored and you weren't, which also means that if I gave the entire family Swine Fl- oh, I'm sorry, H1N1, then I'm the most rottenest person in the world, but I'm already qualified for that moniker so the joke's on you) and head back to New York City for Episode 22 of 24 (the television show 24, not 24 total episodes, even though 24 the show does have 24 total episodes a season--so I guess that works out).

My flight was at 2:40 PM.

Matt and I left the house at 1:37PM.

Now, when you go to the airport, there are numerous obstacles that could cause you to miss your flight and look like an idiot with your pants pulled down at the terminal because you tried to run past security and then they found that you forgot to take the screwdriver out of your messenger bag so now they're patting you down for drugs and threatening a Rob Lowe in Wayne's World-style enema. But none of that happened to me that day. It was just your usual mundane bullshit: tires needed air; the Kia needed a full gas tank; the Atlanta traffic stunk; and at 2:21 when I bolted into airport security, the line was slow; yadda yadda.

When I finally got out of security because slow-ass air travelers who are slow-ass asshats at the retrieval line where you're supposed to quickly put on your shoes and shove your shit into your luggage and then put on your belt later or at least just wait until you're off the line, but oh no I dropped my ziplock bag with all my makeup in it or I forgot to drink all my water so now I have to drink it or throw it away, but hey I paid $1.50 for that water and I can't drink all of it right on the spot or I'll throw it up and the water's like $4.79 in the goddamn Hudson News in the airport, no liquids my ass, it was already 2:37. By the time I reached the appropriate concourse, it was 2:42.

Flight missed.

FAILBLOG.

So I grumpily stomped towards my gate, likely scaring people in the process with my crude language and backwards hat, only to find that my flight had been delayed.

Until 3PM.

It was 2:49.

Score.

Now that I'm recalling all of this good fortune, I've got a nasty feeling that karma is a sumbitch and that I've got a really rude weekend waiting for me. I'll let you know how many times I get peed on by a drunk guy using his window as a urinal.

The Fun Size Twix

I am vehemently opposed to this "fun size" Twix. When you unwrap a normal-sized pack of Twix, you get two sticks of delicious chocolate, caramel, graham cracker and cardiotoxic bliss. When you unwrap the "fun size" Twix, you get one stick.

I was operating under the assumption that "Twix" was a clever, edgy way of naming "Twin Sticks" of choco-graham-ness. With only one stick in the pack, how does the name apply? "Twick?" "Tick?" "Single Portioned Chocolate Graham Caramel Crunchy Dessert For Obesity"?

This will not stand, and it really doesn't matter whether or not my assumption is correct, because as is customary on the internet, MY assumption is all that matters. Therefore, I dema- *bites into fun size Twix bar*... ...oh, I can't stay mad at you, Twick.

I withdraw my statement. More Twix please.

You and I

Blogging without editorial checks and balances has resulted in the internet's perpetual butchering of the English language. Sometimes, that heinous shit creeps into non-blog articles as well. It. Pisses. Me. Off. (Never mind instant messages and chats for a second, because I don't consider those as any manner of "published works" the same way I do high-profile blog entries.)

First of all, "You and I" is not always the correct way to phrase that concept. So your second grade teacher taught you that it was wrong to say, "Me and Jack went to sniff paint." Big friggin' whoop. How on Earth does that make, "Here's what happens when you interview Bob and I" a correct sentence? Blargh! Reading something like that from a high-profile blogger who HAPPENS to write for a newspaper -- someone who even happens to be someone I respect -- is even worse.

What's the strategy Ms. Smith taught you in second grade? Take away the other person and say the sentence as if you were the only subject. "Me went to sniff paint" sounds dickish, right? Right. So what about, "Here's what happens when you interview I"? Yeah. Run that through that brain of yours.

While I'm at it, "on accident" is shit. If you happen to be one of those people who are 100 times smarter than me (I think that's about 98.237% of Earth's population), but still say "on accident," well, I don't care how much smarter than me you are because at the very least you *sound* stupider than I do when you say it. I don't care that your editor let the error pass through the QA process. I don't care what Grammar Girl's "studies" show -- she's just humoring you. It's "by accident" and you're wrong. Deal.

I'm only freaking out because this is really easy shit. It's not like you need Diana Hacker's Pocket Style Manual (go buy it, writers) to know this.

Yeah. Word to yo mama. And stuff.

*turns down the snob dial before getting hit by a food coma*

"Judgement" is now a word in the dictionary.

Apparently, Merriam-Webster updated its dictionary to include "judgement" as an appropriate spelling of the word "judgment".

Fuck. My post is destroyed.

The Presidential Debate, In Reductive Fashion

McCain: "Yakity yak. We're Americans, and that's why we can get it done. It's also how we can get it done."

Obama: "Blibbidy blah. We need to do something. And that something is whatever it is we need to do."

Tom: "Dudes, please stop ignoring the minute-long time limit imposed at your behest."

I hope it was echo.

While I was packing / doing my rudimentary workout of curls, sit-ups and being in pain, my dad had the television set to the YES network where they were showing the ceremony for The Last Game At Yankee Stadium. After they trotted out all the big name historical Yankees, it was time for the game's starting lineup and the National Anthem.

Here's a tip: If you're in a band and you're playing the National Anthem on television for thousands of cheering fans at the last game in an historic stadium that housed perhaps the greatest team in baseball history (I'm not a fan of baseball, so I don't care for nor want to hear your arguments about them sucking; if they're not the greatest, fine by me, I don't care, now shut up), I cannot stress the following enough.

PLAY THE FUCK ON BEAT.

By the end of the song, you know, at, "The Land of the FreeEeEEEeeeEEEe" part, the half the horns were on "The Land" and the other half were already onto "the FreEee-". You know who that guy is in the front? The guy with the hat and the little skinny needle looking thing that he's waving around in the air to some obscure rhythm that you probably have no idea about? HE'S THE CONDUCTOR. HE CONDUCTS THE SONG. THUSFORTH, HE KEEPS THE BEAT. YOU *FOLLOW* HIM.

Tone deaf pricks.*

In sum, that was one of the WORST "normal" renditions of the National Anthem I've heard (not counting the crazy stunts and gimmicks that people have pulled off in the past; Roseanne Barr Pentland Barr Arnold Barr Thomas Barr, I'm pointing a finger in your direction since it hurts to look at you). I really, really just hope it was the echo in the stadium.

*I'm fully aware that pitch has nothing to do with the ability to count and follow a conductor. Bite my ass.

The Art of Urinal Usage

Dear members of the male gender, my fellow cohorts in life's pursuit to sit on the couch, get fat and watch football (well, this IS the United States):

I have a few requests. Now, don't be scared. They're nothing Earth-shattering. These should be easy for you to follow. Furthermore, they all involve that thing you base your life principles on -- you know, your dangle. Third leg. One-eyed snake. Whatever.

Today's topic? URINAL USAGE!

- When using the urinal, please ensure that Dangle's eye is looking straight into the center of the porcelain bowl.

- When using the urinal, please ensure that you're not standing more than four feet away from it.

- When using the urinal, please make sure to FACE the urinal.

This is all common sense, right? Right.

THEN WHY THE FUXORS DO I WALK INTO ANY GIVEN MEN'S RESTROOM ONLY TO SEE A FRIENDLY PATCH OF MOISTURE UNDERNEATH THE URINAL? Here's a tip: Bathroom tiles are not alive. They are inanimate, soulless, non-biological objects. That means they don't need watering. Stop spraying your lemonade all over the goddamn floor. They make lower urinals specifically for douchebags like you who can't aim. If you are not blind, handicapped, a small person, a four-year-old or a female, you have absolutely NO excuse whatsoever to not know how to keep your spray in the tray.

Oh, and if you want to feel worse about yourself, watch Step Brothers and fast forward to the scene where a girl uses the urinal. She does it better than you do. Asshole.

And may I close with a Haiku:

Went to the toilet.
Looks like you left gifts for me!
Flush next time, jerk-off.

Thank you very much for your time. Go run into a wall or something.

Signed,
Civilization

Zune's Virtual Trackball

I've had my 80GB Zune for just over a week now, and so far I'm pleased with my purchase. Not all is perfect, of course, but it's filling its role as a worthy successor to Gigabutt. One thing I like about it is what I personally call the "virtual trackball" that's used for navigation. The Zune uses a four-way directional click-pad that looks like a square with very, very rounded corners, almost to the point of it being a circle. To select a choice, you click down on the center of the pad. You can scroll through lists of songs by holding up or down on the pad, with the scroll-speed accelerating the longer you hold it down. Initially, there's nothing really extraordinary about this; it's the same mechanic used by many devices, including the Creative Zen and my old Gigabutt.

The fun comes in when you actually discover its touch-pad nature. The pad responds to the motion of your finger in the four cardinal directions. So, if you're navigating a list of songs and you slide your thumb down slightly, you'll scroll down a few songs. If you start your thumb at the top of the pad and briskly swipe it downwards, the list starts scrolling at a high velocity before grinding to a slow halt after a second or two. This feels remarkably like a trackball, so if you then start thinking about the pad as if it were a trackball (limited to four directions, of course), you'll begin to understand intuitively how to scroll through your lists.

For instance, if you roll a trackball downwards multiple times in succession, the ball will end up rolling for a good while without your assistance as a result of the momentum. These "physics" are applied to the touch-scrolling too: Swipe your thumb from top to bottom multiple times, and your song list will start scrolling incredibly fast -- with quick, subsequent swipes adding momentum -- before slowly stopping. So how do you keep yourself from overshooting where you want to be? Well, how would you stop a trackball? That's right -- put your hand on it. Likewise, as your songs are scrolling happily on their own, you can stop the scrolling just by laying your thumb on the pad. This is great, mostly "thumbs-off" approach for people scrolling through a small chunk who don't want to hold their thumb down or keep twirling it in a circle (a la the iPod's clickwheel) the entire time.

The flipside to this is that once in awhile, when you mean to click down on the center of the pad, your thumb ever-so-slightly moves in a direction. The pad could pick this up and inadvertently scroll to and select the item above or below the one you actually meant to click. It takes a little getting used to in order to over come this little snare.

It also would have been nice if the touch-pad registered diagonal directions for browsing photographs. When browsing by folder, the Zune spits out thumbnails of every picture in the folder in a grid format where you're free to navigate and choose. If you swipe in a diagonal direction, though, the cursor does this clumsy two-step -- "down, then right" -- instead of skipping diagonally to the picture. While this is functionally the same thing, it doesn't even always do that; it'll soemtimes stop after the first vertical or horizontal direction. Not a big deal by any means at all -- just a minor quibble, given how cool the "trackball" feel of the pad is.

Finally, I know some people like scrolling with the iPod's wheel. For those who don't mind keeping their thumb in constant motion, it offers the best control over your scroll speed. You can scroll precisely as fast as you want, and stop exactly when you want to. Seeing as the touch-pad on the Zune is so rounded, wouldn't it be cool if it emulated the scroll wheel -- for those who wanted such an option -- by responding accordingly to thumb movement around the perimeter (or circumference, if you please) of the pad? That might make it the most versatile input device for an MP3 player yet. As it is, however, it's still a lot of fun to use.

The Dark Knight belongs to Aaron Eckhart [SPOILER-FILLED discussion]

READER BEWARE: THIS DARK KNIGHT DISCUSSION (NOT A REVIEW!!!) IS FILLED WITH SPOILERS.

The Dark Knight is Harvey Dent's movie.

We can ballyhoo about the magnificence of the late Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker. We can continue to heap praises on Christian Bale being the best Batman-slash-Bruce Wayne since Michael Keaton. Neither of these actions would be inappropriate. But in watching The Dark Knight to its conclusion, eyes glued to action, ass on edge of seat, mouth slightly agape, it became startlingly clear that Aaron Eckhart's Harvey Dent -- briefly known as Two Face -- was the the big message, the key idea, behind this film.

It all starts with what is actually the bottom of Gotham City's food chain. Joe Chill was part of the lowest of the low, a mere mugger partially created by Gotham's depression. In murdering Bruce Wayne's parents, he was partially responsible for the savage vigilante -- Batman -- that the young heir would soon become. In Batman's crusade to stamp out crime, however, he unwittingly unleashes the fury of the psychotic -- no -- bat-shit insane Joker who sneers, "[Gotham] deserves a better class of criminal." Alfred makes this clear as Wayne contends that the mob -- in enlisting The Joker's help -- crossed the line: "You crossed the line first, sir. You hammered them. And in their desperation they turned to a man they didn't fully understand." This is no less than the escalation -- the arms race -- that Jim Gordon spoke of at the conclusion of Batman Begins. "We start carrying semiautomatics, they buy automatics. We start wearing Kevlar, they buy armor-piercing rounds." And so it follows: Batman assails crime with destructive resolve, and crime turns to The Joker.

Enter the hero -- the "White Knight" -- whom Wayne, whom Batman, contends is the key to Gotham's ascension from its criminal rubble. Harvey Dent, District Attorney, is a bold figure who can put guilty men behind bars without breaking laws and disrupting order. He doesn't fear an assassin's bullet, and he's determined to bring the dawn -- "It's always darkest before the dawn" he implores his desperate, angry citizens to realize -- to a city that's been mired in darkness.

It's Dent, not the imposter Batmen who put on hockey pads and try to play vigilante along with their inspiration, who represents Bruce Wayne's original goal when he donned the mask. Wayne's father, Thomas Wayne, "believed his example could inspire the wealthy of Gotham to save their city." And yes, Wayne believes that as a man he can't do the same as his father did, hence his need for the Batman persona -- but in Dent, perhaps he has actually found the man to do this. We even see him contemplating the retirement of the bat suit. Such is his confidence in the D.A.

Dent foreshadows his own demise, however, when he claims that, "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." And in his own demise, we see how very little hope Gotham City has, and -- reminiscent of Jack Bauer's (of TV's 24) tragic existence -- how wretched Batman's life must continue to be in order for there to be some modicum of decency and order. Harvey Dent, after all, is only a man. He's not a symbol, and as such he is not, as Wayne put it in Batman Begins, "incorruptible."

The vile waste that is The Joker succeeds in corrupting Dent, taking away the love of his life (and coincidentally of Batman's life), indirectly burning the left half of his face (is it coincidence that the burnt flesh leans Lucifer's way?) and sending the once pure man, Gotham's only law-abiding hope, into a vengeful fit of rage. In becoming Two Face, in seeing his soul corrupted and destroyed, Harvey Dent represents the singular driving idea behind Gotham City and The Dark Knight (both the film and the character): the depressing thought that in light of the progress and the good that is being done, everything is destined to be hopelessly torn to absolute shit. (See what I mean by Jack Bauer?) From Chill to Batman to The Joker, the lowest of the low in Gotham City ultimately creates and destroys the monster that is Two Face -- in effect, Gotham City has just swallowed its own hope for a brighter future.

The only White Knight Gotham had left was snuffed out without mercy, and Dent's apparent death came too late for him to avoid becoming the villain he foreshadowed. It's this rise and fall of a true hero -- this descent into madness -- that most powerfully symbolizes Gotham City's everlasting struggle, and it's his tragedy that simultaneously emphasizes Batman's own personal tragedy to us. Wayne's desire to hang up the mask was fueled by the possibility that Dent could lead the crusade, and subsequently the hope that Rachel Dawes would return to his loving arms. In one fell swoop, these two flickering lights are both eradicated, and Batman's only hope for a normal life is just... plain... gone. Worse, Batman must take the fall for Dent's crimes in order to keep any glimmer of hope alive; what would Gotham think if it found that its White Knight bowed to The Joker's level? From nadir to apogee and back to nadir: The stories of Dent, Wayne and Gotham City are perfect mirror images of each other, with Dent's metamorphosis into Two Face -- so poignant, so condensed -- the most tangible and evident tragedies of them all.

If you want to understand the misery and despair of the film The Dark Knight, all you need do is follow Harvey Dent. After all, it's his movie.

The Website Is Down.

Web Dude: [playing Halo] C'mon you little bitches, let's go... That's right. Oh snap.
[Skype phone rings]
Web Dude: Ulch, not now! [Halo: "Red team is winning."] Oh, you so suck. Ohhh... c'mon. Ohhh..... FUCK. [Picks up the call] Hello? [Alt-tabs back to Halo]
Chip: Web dude it's Chip in sales, what's up man?
Web Dude: Nothing, I'm working. What's... um. What's going on?
Chip: Hey are you ah, you here in Building 3?
Web Dude: Yeah I'm in Building 3.
Chip: Well why do I have to call an outside number to get to your desk?
Web Dude: Wha. Look uhhh, I don't want to get into an IP Telephony conversation with you right now.
Chip: You pee telephony? Haha. I pee *urine*. Heh heh... he totally fell for it.
Nancy and others giggle.
Web Dude: ...that's a... that's a good one.
Chip: Alright so web dude, we got a problem. The website's down.
Web Dude: ...I'm sorry what??
Chip: The Web Site Is Down. It's a black hole, can't get to anything.
Web Dude: [gets killed in Halo] FUCK.
Chip: Yeah.
Web Dude: Hold on. [alt-tabs out of Halo into web browser, showing monster.com, brings up the company website] Looks like it's up to me.
Chip: Wellp... I rebooted my PC and it's still that way.
Web Dude: [alt-tabbing back to Halo] How many times d'you reboot?
Chip: Three man, you always tell me to do three.
Web Dude: Well, uhmmm... hold on. [alt-tabs back to the site] It's up, I mean, I can check to see if Apache's running. [typing commands] Apache is running.
Chip: I don't know what this Patchie is, but ah, either way? I'm still not able to ge-
Web Dude: Oh look, I can telnet to the core, you can get HTML, like, it's running.
Chip: Ok well I'm st- I'm still not able to get what I'm looking for, uh... Nancy said that you guys rebooted last time- I dunno.
Web Dude: Do you want me to reboot... the web server? Even though it's running.
Chip: I'm just saying that's what Nancy said you did last time. Okay?
[long awkward pause]
Web Dude: Well... I can reboot it now? It doesn't make any sense to reboot something that's running-
Chip: Okay well I'm just, I'm just telling you what Nancy said, that y'guys just ah, you know, you guys rebooted last time.
Web Dude: Ummm...
Chip: Y'know I'm not saying anything about YOU guys, you know, I don't, I don't --
Web Dude: Sure. Why not...
Chip: -- I mean, you know, I dunno anything about ah...
Web Dude: ...let's reboot it I mean. It's fun to reboot a web server. I mean that'll take fifteen minutes [alt-tabs back to Halo] so I can get back to what I was d-
Chip: Wait... something just happened. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I - I can't get to the homepage.
Web Dude: Whaddaya mean you can't get to the homepage? I just took it down.
Chip: I just -- I just tried to get to the homepage and I can't get in-
Web Dude: You could get to the homepage before?
Chip: Yeah I was gettin' to the homepage and now I can't get to the homepage.
Web Dude: You told me the website was down. ....gehhh FUCK. So the website WASN'T down.
Chip: Well... eh. Well maybe that's not what I meant okay, uh...
Web Dude: Well it's down *now*.
Chip: Well, what. Whatever it's called. Uh, the world wide web, was dow-
Web Dude: The *internet*????
Chip: It's slow, everything is just slow-
Web Dude: You don't know the difference between the internet and our web site?
Chip: Hey Nancy, is your, is your, is your web working?
Nancy: I told you it wasn-
Chip: Nonono, I know, I know. He rebooted the website.
Nancy: What!?
[incoming call]
Chip: He rebooted it.
Nancy: Waaaaaaaat.
Web Dude: Hold on. [transfers to Line 2] Hello?
Trevor: Uhh yeah, this is Trevor... I work for the city of Arvada, population ten thousand... and I was just looking at our website -- www.arvada.org/arvadaharvestfestival -- and. Ah. I get this error message, page cannot be displayed.
Web Dude: Well it's because the web site's down.
Trevor: Hunhhh?
Web Dude: Oh my god. Look, the sales guys upstairs took down the website so we're waiting for it to come back. [Shooting teammate in the balls in Halo]
Trevor: Whooo?
Web Dude: I guess it was Trevor.
Trevor: And then I tried Arvadaharvestfestival/pumpkinpatch and that wasn't on there and then I tried harvestfestival/beanbagrace and nothing's coming up and I LITERALLY... have the Mayor breathing down my neck right now so we need to get this back up, uh --
Web Dude: Well it should be up by now honestly -- [continues to shoot teammate in the elbow in Halo]
Trevor: They call it On Line. We gotta get this page online.
Web Dude: Uh, alright Trevor, well let me, you know, can I call you back when it's up? [Halo: "Blue team has the lead"]
Trevor: You know what, call me back, at this number... LITERALLY. Have the Mayor. Breathing down my neck. Arvadapumpkinpatch.org.
Web Dude: Mkay. Check.
Trevor: Hunhhh?
Web Dude: See you later. [Hangs up on Trevor, transfers back to Chip] Okay --
Chip: ...down because he rebooted it. I--
Nancy: What an idiot.
Chip: I dunno why he did it -- ahhmmm, say that again?
Web Dude: Listen -- oh. What was your name again? Chip?
Chip: Chip-hhh.
[incoming call]
Chip: I didn't ask for it to go down...
Web Dude: Can you hold on a second? [transfers to Line 2] Hello?
Boss: D'you take down the website?
web Dude: ...no...
Boss: Well Nancy says ya did.
[pause]
Web Dude: Oh I mean. Yeah!
Boss: Well why the hell didja do that???
Web Dude: Well the sales guys... were...
Boss: Didn't you get my email about not taking down the web server?
Web Dude: Uhhmm... nnn... [alt-tabs to Outlook, showing an email: DO NOT REBOOT THE WEB SERVER!!!!!!!!!!!] ...no?
Boss: Well I sent it to you.
Web Dude: ... ... ... ... [click, click, click] well... [click]... [removes all traces of the email from Exchange Server] Hold on. Cuz I don't see it.
Boss: Well... ahh, this is weird. I don't see it here. Okay. Well maybe I didn't send it to you.
Web Dude: Well yeah cuz uh seriously, you know, I didn't get it.
Boss: Well the email said don't take it down because it won't come back up without being powered off.
Web Dude: Oh. Crap.
Boss: Yeah. Thanks a lot.
Web Dude: Uhh -- [Boss hangs up] -- I'm sorry? *sigh* Fucking... look. [transfers back to Chip] Chip?
Chip: Yeap.
Web Dude: Look, okwebserversnotcomingupnowbecauseyoumademetakeitdowninthe- in the wrong way.
Chip: Ahh, okay?
Web Dude: I'm gonna have to get Lazlo to power it off. C- ...can you hold on a minute?
Chip: Alright.
[Puts chip on hold, dials Lazlo's cellphone... rings, rings, rings...]
Chip: Fuckin' Lazlo, c'mon.
Lazlo: Hello Derek, you fucking idiot. [loud hiss of servers in the background] What rack is this in?
Web Dude: I'm sorry what?
Lazlo: What rack is the system in?
Web Dude: It's in Rack Five.
Lazlo: [distant, over the din] Five?
Web Dude: Yes.
Lazlo: Rack Five?
Web Dude: Rack Five.
Lazlo: ...told me that you took down the system.
Web Dude: Yes. It was an accident.
Lazlo: What'd he tell me?
Web Dude: Just reboot it.
Lazlo: You need the system rebooted?
Web Dude: Yes.
Lazlo: Which one is it?
Web Dude: It's gray, it's on the, it's like third down.
Lazlo: The one... they- they're all gray.
Web Dude: It's third down. You can see the gray on the bottom.
Lazlo: You mean which... from the top or the bottom?
Web Dude: From the top...
Lazlo: ...you tell me...
Web Dude: ...it's. Jesus-
Lazlo: You tell me. I can't...
Web Dude: It's gray.
Lazlo: I can't hear anything.
Web Dude: I know -- shut up! It's gray on the bottom!
Lazlo: From the bottom.
Web Dude: It's GRAY on the bottom. It's not in the bottom of the rack? [computer dings]
Lazlo: From the top?
Web Dude: YES!
Lazlo: Ah.
Web Dude: You just powered off the Exchange server!
Lazlo: I'll do the top one now.
Web Dude: Oh my fucking god. [computer dings]
Lazlo: 'Kay, yeah, I did both of them so you should be good.
Web Dude: No!
Lazlo: Mkay, later.
Web Dude: THANKS A LOT.
Lazlo: ...idiot...
[click, call ends]
Web Dude: *sigh*... [alt-tabs back to Halo] Wwwwaaaaaaaaaaau[proceeds to fire at teammate incessantly]uauuauuuuuuuggghhghhhhhhhh-
Msg from Halo: ATTENTION. The Server Operator has kicked you from this server.
Web Dude: Aagghh. [transfers to line 1]
Chip: Yeah I dunno, guess he didn't take it down right.
Web Dude: Chip.
Nancy: ...I swear...
Chip: Hey.
Web Dude: Well, ya managed to take the email system down as well.
Chip: R'heally? the email server?
Web Dude: Well it doesn't-
Chip: He just-
Web Dude: -have anything to do with the web server-
Chip: - shut off all our email.
Nancy: That's what he fucking did last time!
Web Dude: Look -- [reboots Halo]
Chip: Ahh, okay.
Web Dude: Lazlo at the data center rebooted it when he was trying to fix the web server that *you* asked me to take down, so...
Chip: How many times?
Web Dude: ............... how many times *what*?
Chip: How many times did he reboot it?
Web Dude: Once.
Chip: Well I think ya need to try a few more times.
Nancy chortles in the background
Web Dude: Lookit-
Chip: Web dude, we're having a quarterly sales call in two minutes, I need to get on the website, or the internet, or whatever, that's why I called you in the first place. Help a brother out.
Web Dude: What's your asset tag, Chip?
Chip: Ahh, the asset tag is 287jpc, and the number 2.
Web Dude: Is that P as in Paul?
Chip: That's P as in Paul.
Web Dude: Mkay. [Remote Desktops into Chip's computer, where an old Windows 95 screen saver is running] Where'd you get this wh...unnhhh... is this your desktop??? ...is the mouse mo-
Chip: WHHOOAAA my mouse just moved!!!!
Web Dude: Okay. Yeah why d-
Chip: Do that again! Oh my god you're moving my mouse...
Web Dude: It's remote desktop. What is your password?
Chip: It's just the letter A.
Web Dude: Just the letter A. Alright. [opens up a screen with a gajilliondy windows open]
Chip: Like Apple. ...are you looking at my desktop right now?
Web Dude: Dude, how many programs do you have running?
Chip: This is so awesome.
Web Dude: You g- you're totally overloading your box. That's probably part of the reason.
Chip: Well I use all these programs... but -- you know I gotta lotta work to do during the day.
Web Dude: Can I... can I close this [closing Explorer window]
Chip: Whoa whoa hey- [Web Dude closes email draft] -nonono!
Web Dude: ...save this? [Web Dude closes IE browser window showing "Utterpants -- sex with Vegetables"]
Chip: Wait wai-
Web Dude: Chip -
Chip: You cannot, no... I need to save this! This is all my work!
Web Dude: Look, you don't need this stuff.
Chip: I've got some research that I'm doing, okay, you-
Web Dude: [closing a game of Hearts] I mean all these things take up memor-
Chip: You can't close all of my windows! Okay!?!?
Web Dude: [closes a game of Solitaire] Closin' that.
Chip: Web dude, web dude, ya gotta slow down-
Web Dude: [comes to a window of AOL before 3.0] Dude, AOL???? Don't use AOL! It's dial-up networking.
Chip: Well how am I going to get to the internet without AOL?
Web Dude: I... It's... it's broadband.
Chip: But I got like 4000 hours for free.
Web Dude: It's -- ughh. We have a corporate OC3 -- it costs like $1000 a month, so don't use AOL. [closes AOL, only to find...] Whoa.
Chip: Can you carry over my hours?
Web Dude: What -- what is *this*??? [mousing over desktop] "Fuk u..."
Chip: It's... my desktop?
Web Dude: What... there're icons, they spell "Fuk u!" and there's a picture of a penis.
Chip: Ahh, Patricia did that when I took over her computer. She wasn't very happy.
Web Dude: Holy crap. ...how long's it been like that?
Chip: Eight or nine years.
Web Dude: Oh my god.
Chip: You know I just got so used to it. I didn't want to change it.
Web Dude: That's fuckin' awesome... hold on. Alright, I'm taking a picture of this, hold on just a sec.
Chip: Ok, just so you know I got a meeting in like five minutes, so whatever we gotta do to get my PC back.
Web Dude: This is going right onto BoingBoing.
Chip: Uh what's BoingBoing?
Web Dude: Here's the thing. This? Is a problem. You can't have people looking at this, okay? Arrange your icons -- [sorts desktop by Name] -- by Name or something...
Chip: Whoa nonono! I can't find anything!
Web Dude: Whaddaya mean? It's alphabetical!
Chip: Aww man. I -- ugh -- I had everything exactly where I knew where it was. I knew th- that th- that our website? Our website? Wasattheverytipofthe penis!
[pause]
Chip: And now I don't know where anything is! How am I go- no, it's not that one, it's not that one anymore!
Web Dude: Well... ulch...
Chip: MySalesForce.com was on the right testicle -- I'm not gonna be able to find anything. I gotta meeting in two minutes and I need the icons back the way they were.
Web Dude: Well I can't go back. There's no way to go back. You can't arrange 'em by penis.
Chip: Omigod... I tell ya, every time I've called you tech support people, every fucking time, you guys do something entirely different you know? You don't fix the problem that I call about! You know all I wanted was to get the website back! That's all that, that's all I needed! Can you restore it -- you said you took a picture of it. Restore it.
Web Dude: Well.... yeah, I guess. I mean I can just make that the background for your desktop.
Chip: I don't care what you have to do, whatever you gotta do to get this thing back.
Web Dude: ...honestly that probably won't, won't solve the problem completely but...
Chip: Well if the icons're in the same spot I'll be able to get to them. [Web dude restores penis background; meshing in with the grid of arranged icons, it creates a jumbled mess] ...alright, so this is worse. [Web Dude Selects All icons, drags them completely off the screen, leaving the penis background on display crystal clear] Oh wait-
Web Dude: I mean this is just a picture on the desktop...
Chip: That's great, this is perfect, this is perfect. Hey I gotta get into my meeting, so, you know, I'm, I yeah, this is great.
Web Dude: You good with it? [dragging selection box around, not able to select any actual icons since it's only a background] Because...
Chip: No no, this is, this is fine, I can find everything! I can find everything, this is fine.
Web Dude: Mkay.
Chip: Ok so, I gotta go to the meeting, ahhhhh you know, thanks a lot web dude, I'm outta here!
Web Dude: Mkay.
Chip: Alright, bye.
Web Dude: Jesus. What a fuckin' day. [alt-tabs to Halo, plasma grenades a dude and melee's him out, with the grenade exploding a second after.] Hehehehe...