more computer foolings

I successfully installed a DVD burning drive, in about fifteen minutes. The most difficult part was unplugging the power cord from the back of the drive in the cramped space of the mini-tower. Now I can easily backup the digital photography that has been occupying HUGE amounts of space on the 80gb hard drive.

XM satellite radio: how did I live without it?

I finally succumbed because of the baseball: every team, every game, all season. And I'm loving that. Increasingly, though, I'm enjoying the regular radio programming. Example: Ethel, channel 47, is one of the 100% commerical free music stations. Their last five songs: two Modest Mouse songs, then a Pogues song, then a random Sublime song, and now Primus. Fun stuff.

Jose Canseco's Big Shitty Book: Juiced

I just finished reading Canseco's 284 pages of whining, self ego-stroking, tell-all babble. What a piece of crap. I shouldn't even have bothered, and in fact, had no plans to bother, until I saw it sitting on the new arrival shelf at our local public library. I did have to snicker at his notes that he didn't care what people thought of his book, as long, of course, as they paid full price for it. Ha, ha.

He spends most of the book on a central theme: I'm a human, everyone is a human, but boy, am I just about the greatest human to ever grace baseball with my presence. He whines a lot about his performance not being what it could have been, had he not been injured, but he also whines about people saying he was always injured. He insists that steroids, properly administered (he refers to himself as The Godfather of Steroids, also The Chemist), don't increase risk of injury. So how does he explain his persistent injuries? Well, he doesn't: he mentions some of them, like the three back surgeries, but insists that steroids where why he recovered. He pooh-poohs, without any explanation or stated basis, the idea that Ken Caminiti and Lyle Alzado's deaths were steroid related. His only basis for this is a sort of contorted reverse logic: because there was no scientific proof that steroids caused either death, therefore, it is clear that they did not. Hmmmm...

Canseco repeatedly claims he was framed, then railroaded into taking a plea stemming from a barfight where he claims he didn't preally hurt anyone and acted only in self defense by putting his hand out to motion to someone to stop. (Context: he also mentions that he holds black belts in three martial arts: Japanese Karate, Tae Kwon Do, and Muay Thai.)

He insists that his probation violation for failing a drug test was clearly the result of someone swapping urine samples with him. This, at the end of a 284 page book extolling the magical virtues of steroids, and The Chemist's proud use of them?

He insists that he is not only the nicest guy ever, but that he is also not a domestic abuser. This despite admitting that during one argument where his then wife was sitting in the front seat, he reached in front to grab her by the hair to get her attention? That in another incident with another wife, he and she were driving down the road fighting and screaming in SEPARATE cars, and, oops, wouldn't you know it? Their darn cars collided.

He talks about being a fun-loving, easy-going, cuddly guy, then explains away his arrests for carrying loaded firearms on hospital campuses, beating his wives, and just happening to have a machine gun nicknamed "Street Sweeper" in his closet that he was going he kill himself with (he put the gun down on his bed, and decided to cuddle his infant daughter instead. It was left unclear whether he put away the machine gun before cuddling with his daughter.)

Canseco repeatedly refers to his own superhuman abilities, and how amazing he was, and at one point, says he was the greatest player in baseball. He's especially proud of being the AL Rookie of the Year in 1986, and of his 40/40 season: 42 home runs, 40 stolen bases, resulting in his being voted the unanimous American League MVP in 1988. Yes, this is something to be proud of.

But the greatest player in baseball? The most amazing physical speciem to grace the game? A poster boy for why steroid use is so great for professional athletes? HUH? Let's review his somewhat checkered and inconsistent career: he led the league in home runs only twice: 1988 (42) and 1991 (44). He hit over 40 home runs only one other time: 1998 (46), which placed him third on the league.

What else did he do in 1998, you might wonder? He led the league in strikeouts, with 159. (He struck out 1942 times in his career, in 7057 at-bats.) His career batting average is .266; in only three seasons out of seventeen did he hit over .300, and one of these, 1985, with a .302 batting average, he only had 96 at-bats in 29 games.

Canseco go on and on about his running abilities, especially for someone so large and muscular: for example, he brags repeatedly about running the 40 yard dash in 4.3 seconds, and at one point, makes the preposterous claim to have run it in 3.9 seconds (page 231). After those 40 steals in 1988, his next highest total was 29 in 1998, then 26 in 1991, and then only four other seasons did he have more then 10 steals. He was only in the top ten for steals one time, in 1988, when his 40 steals placed him fourth in the league.

How ridiculous are his claims about running? Well, for starters, he only lists his times in the 40 yard dash, a distance/event that the IAAF, track & field's international governing body, doesn't even recognize or record (The shortest distance the IAAF recognizes for world-record purposes is an indoor 50 meters, or about 54 yards, per this excellent article on the official site of the U.S. Olympic Team.) That article goes on to debunk the mythic 40 yard times that many NFL players put up.

In my research, I can't find ANY serious claims that ANYONE has EVER run the 40 yard dash faster than 4.15 seconds, even with extremely questionable timing methodology.

Oh, apparently, Canseco is explaining his ridiculous 3.9 second claim as a typo.

Even more fun/ny: in this article he's quoted as saying he ran a 3.39 second 40-yard dash!

This isn't to say that Canseco's book is entirely without merit: it did bring the topic of cheating through steroids to the attention of the public and the snoozing congress, it also speaks to the undeniable truth of racism in baseball. Sadly, though, Canseco is such a fucking ridiculous clown that the couple of important messages he has are lost in the fog.

why computers really aren't such a great thing:

1) because they stress me out.
2) because I foolishly rely on CNET to be worth a damn.

I agreed, on the suggestion of Dr. Smartypants, to install an additional RAM module in our desktop machine (a somewhat clunky emachines T2484 that is a couple of years old.)

We were at Fry's at this ridiculous sale on May 20, which included such super buys as internal DVD burners for $39, with no fucking irritating rebates. We also got a 512mb DIMM RAM module for $49, with a $30 mail-in fucking irritating rebate.

So after looking at the RAM for a little over a week, I finally decided to try to install it, since I am butting up on Fry's fucking irritating 14 day return policy on computer equipment.

So I installed popped open the case (ignoring the emachines tamper sticker, since we're well past the warranty period anyway), installed the memory module in the empty slot in what seemed to be a process far too easy to be true, closed the case, and booted up. You can guess the pre-lunchline: it was, indeed, far too easy to be true.

The machine started up fine, but didn't recognize the new memory. (Still only showing 256mb.) So I cracked it open again, and tried re-seating the memory: still no recognition. Then I did the minimal troubleshooting that CNET's SHITTY guide to installing new memory recommends: I unseated and re-seated both the existing and the new memory modules. (Yes, all of you wiseasses out there: I did carefully ground myself EVERY time before I touched either of the memory modules.)

Crisis ensues: now the machine won't boot up at all, and instead emits a LOUD, prolonged (two to three seconds) beeping noise on startup. Sigh. I resign myself the the new memory being defective, crack open the case again, and pluck it out.

Crisis now at catastrophe level: same result, even with the existing, factory installed memory the only memory in the machine. I congratulate myself for backing up all of the most critical data before engaging in this fool's errand, and make a crisis phone call to my trusty computer expert, Mister .'.

I leave Mister .'. a whiny voicemail, and decide to go research my problem a little further. Well, it only takes me about twenty seconds of reading a competent guide on installing memory, on crucial.com, to come across this critical point, clearly expressed in two different places:

Push Hard
When the ejector pins snap up around the module your memory is installed.
...
Use your thumbs to press the module into the slot. Press hard! It takes about 20 lb of pressure to get the module properly inserted in the slot. When you hear a "click" and both side ejector clips snap up around the module, you know it is installed correctly.

Indeed, I've now seen elsewhere on the web that it can take up to 40 pounds of pressure to properly install RAM modules, and most sites recommend 20 to 30 pounds.

To finish this already boring story: I cracked open the case for baout the tenth time, and yeah, when you really apply pressure, they seat fine, and work great. The computer is now veritably clipping along with 768mb of RAM. Hoo-ha!

Dear Day's Inn:

Submitted via their online form, regarding their hotel on West Diversey in Chicago:

Hello, I just thought I'd let you know that because your 800 phone staff declined to match or even come close to a rate from your own website ($63/night), I cancelled my previously booked reservation ($79.95/night, reservation ########), and booked a better rate at another hotel. So much for "Unbeatable Rates"!

pi

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751058209749445923078164062862089986280348253421170679

who doesn't love to calculate pi to 32 million digits? i only did two million, which took one minute, fifty-nine seconds.

i'm also happy to report that my 700m has no dead pixels!

beer and feet

today S and i bottled the Downspout Stout (unoriginal, i know, but i had to pick something to start calling it. suggestions are invited.) it's really more like a porter, FULL of coffee flavor, slightly sweet, and tiny hints of roastiness. yum. yield was almost four gallons, so volunteers are needed for drinking!

in other news, anyone know these feet? they should be returned to their owner ASAP, as they seem in serious need of help of some kind. please advise.

hotel reds

sent today:

[dangr-us letterhead here]

Red Lion Hotel
Salt Lake Downtown
161 West 600 South
Salt Lake City, UT 84101

Red Lion and WestCoast Hotels
Business Office
W. 201 North River Dr.
Spokane, WA 99201

6 May 2005

To whom it may concern:

I recently had the opportunity to stay at the Red Lion, Salt Lake Downtown, April 29 - May 2. The staff was excellent, the location ideal, the views of the Wasatch Range extraordinary, the free WiFi convenient, and the rooms comfortable: I will probably never return. Most things in the hotel were as good as they could be, and for this class of hotel, quite excellent. However, the pervasive cigarette smoke in my two different rooms was intolerable, and exacerbated my asthma for much of my three day stay in Salt Lake City.

Some background: in advance of my stay, I called and requested a non-smoking room. I was told this would not be a problem, since the hotel was at 40% capacity for that weekend, and I would not be assigned a smoking room unless I requested one. On arrival at the hotel, I requested a room with a view of the mountains to the east, if there was something available that was non-smoking. The desk employee, who was extremely friendly and efficient, gave me a room in the main tower, on the top floor (9th) in that building, with a breathtaking view of the mountains. I was delighted. I settled in to prepare for my business the next day, and then went for a walk around Salt Lake City.

On my return, I noticed the room seemed quite smoky. I was surprised by this, since the hallway itself wasn’t smoky. I discovered the primary source of the smoke was the vent above the mini-bar. I opened the sliding doors to the small balcony to air the room out, and hoped it was a fluke. On my return from dinner, it was again quite smoky, but leaving the balcony doors wide open seemed to let enough air in to mitigate it. This was a workable solution until it became clear that cigarette smoke was billowing in from other balconies: apparently, people were considerate enough to not smoke in non-smoking rooms, but not considerate enough to realize that the balconies were very much in a shared airspace.

It was late, and I was tired. I decided to just close the balcony door and deal with the stale, foul smelling smoke coming in through the ventilation system, rather than invite plumes of fresh, foul-smelling smoke from as many as a dozen other balconies. The next afternoon, my business partner arrived, and immediately on entering the room, asked me if I had a smoking room. I agreed it was disgusting, and went down to the front desk to see about changing it. The front desk was busy with arriving guests at the time, so we went to our business appointments and dinner, and I went back to the front desk that night. The woman at the desk was friendly and understanding about it, though she expressed surprise that smoke would be a problem, since the 9th floor was, according to her, an entirely non-smoking floor. Nevertheless, she happily agreed to move me to another room, and within minutes, I was moving my things to the sixth floor of the main (north) tower.

While this room initially seemed better, it quickly became clear that the entire hotel was going to be a problem for smoke, since people on nearly every floor were on their balconies, at one time or another, smoking. In other words, I could not leave my balcony doors open to get the delightful fresh air; instead, all I would get was the foul, noxious cigarette smoke of other guests. Indeed, my next-door neighbor was smoking on his balcony, as were at least ten other people on various floors around me.

I had another couple of very minor complaints: the pool and spa, advertised on the hotel’s web page, was (apparently perpetually) in a state of remodeling. The tub in the second room backed up to several inches of standing water during my shower on Sunday morning. But in truth, these were minor irritations, the likes of which can, and do, occur at any hotel. The smoke being everywhere, however, was the worst I’ve ever experienced at any hotel in the United States.

Some of it probably has to do with the hotel design: the nice curve which allows for beautiful views for so many rooms also means that the airspace is more shared than might be the case on a flat wall. I do understand that, as a business, you need to provide accommodations which are acceptable to all of your guests. I further understand that this means smokers and non-smokers. However, it seems that there are a couple of things you could do to lessen the problem: first, it’s crazy to have non-smoking floors above smoking floors, both for ventilation purposes, and the outside balconies. If smoking was explicitly prohibited (and accordingly signed) in the rooms and on the balconies of all lower floors, say, first through fifth, then it could be allowed on the upper floors, six through nine, with much less impact. Better still would be to prohibit smoking (and post corresponding signage) on all of the outside balconies on at least one of the (five? six?) sides of the hotel. Ideal, though admittedly a significant undertaking, would be to completely prohibit, and sign, smoking in all areas of one of the two buildings (either the north or the south building.)

I am not telling you how to run your business, any more than I would expect you to tell me how to run mine. Rather, I only offer these suggestions as workable ways to make your hotel vastly more pleasant to guests, who, like myself, are very sensitive to smoke, as well as those who simply don’t like it, and don’t want to expose themselves or their families to it.

In the next six to eight months, I expect to return to downtown Salt Lake City for business between ten and fifteen times. Were it not for the smoke problem, I expect that I would return regularly to the Red Lion, as I was genuinely delighted with most other aspects of the hotel, especially the staff, location, and scenic view. Unfortunately, if the smoke problem remains as it is, I will not return, nor will I recommend it to friends and colleagues.

I look forward to your response(s), by return letter or e-mail, and thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,
[dangr]

beer! (what else?)

was at brew it up! both last night and today. the Csar's Tar (imperial stout) and Skydiver Barleywine were both outstanding, and there is an excellent Belgian red style called Arik the Red on, also wonderful.

today i went down at happy hour with J, with the explicit mission of scheduling some brew-on-premises lovin', and we are set. on 5/20, we'll be brewing a modified version version of their Trade Winds IPA, with a fully customized hop bill, full of such lovelies as Galena, Columbus, Centennial, and Chinook. yum! (screw the Goldings, Fuggles, and Cascade.)

salt lake goodness!

i'm pleasantly delighted with SLC. the views are shockingly anchoragua-like (especially vivid since The Good Senator joined me this weekend, and we couldn't stop commenting how much it was like the Alpenglow of Moose's Tooth fame.)

we drank a whole lot of beer at several brewpubs (links to reviews likely to follow), i went to a very pleasant AAA baseball game friday night, and we basically had a good time.

we had to move hotel rooms, since all the fucking rude assholes blew their smoke into our room, via vents and balconies. fortunately, both rooms shared a SPECTACULAR view of the mountains to the east. the views in SLC, generally, are breathtaking. i'm falling in love with this city, quickly, and surprisingly. it's similar to colorado springs, in that when you drive around a corner, you're just blasted with amazing mountain views. in the springs, though, you only get them to the west. in SLC, you get them to the north, and east, and south, and southwest, and northwest. and due west, you ask? the great salt lake. (stinky, but pretty.)

confidential to all the disgusting women at trolley square: big stupid tall ugly heels with jeans? you're not hot. you're just foul. go crawl back under your rock.

the house hunt continues in earnest: looking like we really want to stick to the central city/downtown/Liberty Park area.

confidential to all the monied yuppies who are driving the housing prices up in Sugarhouse: you're lame. the neighborhood is sterile and boring (compared to many other areas of SLC), it borders on the freeway and a disgusting strip mall, and it's about as far away from SLC as you can get and still be in SLC. hot tip: just go to Sandy, buy a seven bedroom house, a Volvo turbowagon, a purebred golden retriever, and overpriced, anorexia-inducing gymnastics lessons, and get it over with.

overall: very entertaining, fun, laugh-filled, successful trip. (the empties are clanking against one another on the desk as i type this.)