The Kabbalah’s Tree of Life as a London Underground map
Category: Uncategorized
apple blues
The hard drive on my 15″ Aluminum Powerbook G4 is clearly defective and has been for some time. It likes to hang and say “disk0s3: I/O error” into the logs at times when certain files are touched. The Disk Utility thinks the drive is fine and so does the “SMART” status. Maybe a cable is loose in there. The voice of authority in the form of dr_strych9, who knows, told me to get it replaced but I didn’t.
Now of course it’s worse. An unknown number of my music files now make this thing happen, and the new iTunes insists on doing a “gapless music analysis” on each file on startup each time that can’t be disabled and keeps hitting the problem. I remove a file and it “finds” another. Plus, the update prebindings thing that installers like to do sets it off. My computer is becoming less and less usable.
I realized that I haven’t fixed this mainly because I hate dealing with AppleCare and the Apple Store. The last couple of times I went to the Genius Bar, the Genius gave me the third degree. Well sir we might have a K key to replace this broken one, we have some in the back, but if we don’t you’ll have to pay for a new keyboard. Yes I know you have AppleCare but the wear & tear, sir. Pointing to the spots where the sweat from my wrists had pitted the aluminum and talking about “moisture corrosion damage issues,” looking for anything that meant I had been using the thing to hammer nails, etc.
They’ve clearly been told to be hardasses and refuse AppleCare to anyone they can, especially laptop owners. I understand that they’re plagued with people who pour a Coke on their computers and try to get a new one, but being treated like a criminal isn’t fun. Considering the expense of the computer and the AppleCare plan itself, I’m aggrieved to find myself having used car lot conversations with a supercilious geek every time I need help.
Plus, of course, I put in my own memory which invalidates everything because Apple wants to insist on selling RAM at a huge markup over retail.
It’s hard not to see the whole thing as a scam, and it makes me angry, and I don’t like being angry. It’s particularly humiliating to have to defend my computer maintenance skills in public to someone who’s just going to win if he wants to and has poor enough social skills that he’s going to push all my buttons.
So I guess I’ll just buy a new hard drive with cash and try to transfer the data over somehow. I’m not sure I’d buy a new Apple now, though, and I’m certainly not very jazzed about AppleCare. It has been useful before when undeniable problems happened early in hardware ownership, but I don’t any longer think it’s better than another computer vendor’s warranty.
I needed native x86 and Windows for radio stuff so I ordered a cheap-ass low-end Dell this week. I paid for the accidental destruction coverage on it. Maybe Apple should offer that separately from the service at a higher rate, instead of making us fight with their employees about whether we’re good stewards every time something goes wrong.
I freely admit that my own problems with conflict and my button pushes are at least as much the problem as Apple’s policies, but I’m also tired of bait and switch, and tired of Apple’s denial about actual design flaws like the AC Adapter. They do so much so well, and then the Reality Distortion Field intervenes and says “We’re perfect, and you, the customers, are imagining your problems.”
Kaboomistan
The Counterterrorism blog has a chilling update on Pakistan. If this and similar reports are largely true, the American people are in for a big surprise. My guess is that most of it is accurate, because similar reports keep popping up.
They’re one coup away from a nuclear-armed and unapologetically pro al Qaeda regime that could trash Afghanistan, re-start the Kashmir war with India, and provoke China into God knows what. Invading and subjugating such a nation is probably impossible and would require the cooperation of nearly the whole world.
The news from Pakistan is a Le CarrĂ© mess of garbled signals and spooky tidbits. It’s pretty clear from everything you can see that bin Laden and Omar live there and are protected, that their “tribal areas” are not in any way governed, and that Musharraf is the classic doomed dictator trying to play both sides of a losing game.
And nukes. If Seymour Hersh is to be believed, Bush Sr. just barely kept Pakistan from attacking India with nuclear weapons during a particularly bad time in those two countries’ relations. Personally I’d much rather worry about a nuclear Iran than about a place that’s barely a nation and dominated by mobs and “tribes” owning nukes and F-16s.
I wonder how much bourbon they go through in the Pentagon when they play out these scenarios.
a jaded hack is me!
Okay, so you all read “Perry and Me,” my account of how a $2.50 blurb caused famed rock star Perry Farrel to stalk the fuck out of me for months. I just ran across evidence of another bit of similar hilarity.
Another $2.50 blurb I wrote was for Henry Rollins in 1987. This was when Henry was just starting out on a literary career by doing “spoken word.” “Spoken Word” meant rock musicians doing standup comedy with occasional blank verse.
One of the regular venues for music and other things was BeBop Records, a little store on Reseda Blvd owned by a guy named Rich. In the mid to late 1980s Rich booked an impressive series of events there: live music, performance of all kinds, and art. Henry was slated to do one of his “spoken word” gigs there. I’d just seen Henry do this thing at UCLA and I wasn’t very impressed, but I didn’t pan it or tell anyone to avoid it; I just described in a very few words what it looked like.
Henry’s response is here: Hack Writer (.mp3, 5.3M). It went into a book, too, not sure which one.
The funny part was that not much later I interviewed Henry for publication. He actually came to my apartment in Hollywood on the bus from where he was living in Echo Park. I opened the door to see a very tentative and anxious rock star in black t-shirts and black shorts. He was clearly worried that I had taken his shtick to heart, but we had a good laugh and did the interview. I was impressed with how serious he was about publishing and writing.
By the time I saw him again, for another interview when he and Weiss were putting out Wartime, it was a running gag.
And now, of course, he’s Dick Clark. But that’s another story.
myspace sockpuppets
They’re so boring!
When I look to see who’s close to my zip code, the view is clogged with people alleging themselves to be characters on “The O.C.” How original.
Here’s something funnier. When I browse by people who attended UCLA when I did, which should be a much smaller group on myspace at my age, I get… Jack Bauer, protagonist of “24.”
baby, bath, and beyond
Some medical office on 17th is offering pregnant women ultrasounds of their babies in “3D AND 4D.”
I’m not sure how comforting the time-traveling, prophetic Star Child God-Infants are going to be on those screens, what with all the trails of flame and dire, inscrutable pronouncements in iambic pentameter. The beating little heart was probably enough.
On being clinically depressed
springheel_jack has produced a handy guide for the perplexed. Useful only if the person you’re talking to is actually perplexed and not a sociopath, but hey, we can’t have everything.
video: 30 minutes on 9/11, 500 yards from ground zero
http://www.revver.com/view.php?id=59686
use bittorrent if you can: http://www.highring.com/30min911.torrent
I don’t wear glasses, and other Flickr delights
I got a cheap set of frames for emergencies and bad eyeball days, so that I can still drive and see long distances in the Mad Max world or when my eye hurts.
It’s Gergmas. Damnit.

Greg Franco (left), in a photo for his band Rough Church
To the stupid “where were you” question I have to respond “asleep” because I’m on the west coast and lazy. Where I was the night before? At my old good friend Greg’s birthday party, because up until 2001, September 11 meant GERG’s birthday. And it still does, goddamnit.
I’ve known him since 1985, and he and I have been in many car crashes. We did a radio show together and played even crazier music than the crazy college radio station wanted us to. We both showed up at a Cabaret Voltaire show in sweaters because we were fucking corndogs. I always bought lunch and he always had a car. We made the same mistakes and forgave each other. We spent a lot of time in the dark listening to some magically good record. We also spent a lot of time listening to shitty music that one of us thought would be good.
He was there for me when my life exploded in college, and when I was a flat broke depressed part-time editorial assistant with a stain on my pants. He saved my ass in the L.A. Riots with his insane courier driving skills and bravery. He and I lent each other two dimes back and forth 1,000 times and ate cheap rice sitting on the floor of a hundred crap apartments. He moved me across town in blinding heat in a 1967 Mustang, 8 trips. I carried his amps and drums around. He kidnapped me from work the day after my dad died and drove me up in the mountains.
My friendship with this guy led to an night sessions at a Persian recording studio in Van Nuys, and to a big beach party we threw where no one came but us, and to a hundred other adventures we can call back with one or two words: “Buttonwillow,” “Psych 201,” “Pepper pot soup,” “Mike F. on acid.”
I have not seen him in a long time but I bet you we could have a conversation entirely in incomprehensible catchphrases to this day.
He makes great music and is passionate about it, and gives up a lot to do it well. Do yourselves a favor and visit Rough Church, see if you agree about the music.
Celebrate Gergmas with me. Instead.
