"The problem will be deviated"

If asked, I would include myself with the language curmudgeons. I grumble about the term "repurpose" to mean "use for another purpose", "impact" instead of "affect", etc. Will posterity understand terms? I suspect that those who still read will regard these terms as turn of the century oddities.

What leads me here is a search of IBM's web site for a problem with Sonic's RecordNow! software. Although the operating system (WinXP) shows both a DVD and a CD drive, the RecordNow! software can't find either drive. The usual culprit in situtations like this is a driver problem. A search of IBM's knowlege base turned up plenty of links for ThinkCentres and IntelliStation E's, but I was using an IntelliStation M. I finally spotted a promising link, but after reading I wasn't quite sure.

What does "deviated" mean in this context?

Sonic upgrade page - IBM IntelliStation M Pro (9229), Z Pro (9228) ... Install the upgrade pack when you encounter the following problem: When installing CATIA V5R16 SP2 under the presence of Sonic DLA in the system, installer will fail to read the CD. Use the upgrade pack to upgrade Sonic DLA and the problem will be deviated.

I despair.

Menu Cowardice

There, on the back page, was Friendlys' "Over 60 Menu". I didn't have the courage to order.

But You're an Engineer!

The other day EGGDEW, a long time faculty member asked me about recycling his old computer (EGGDEW is his username. Some in the Systems Group dread his calls because the problems won't be solved by a standard fix. But I digress.)

It was unfortunate that he asked me then because just two weeks earlier two towns held their electronic recycling days. His PC still had its original install of Windows 95. EGGDEW said he was concerned about possibly revealing confidential information.

"Not a problem" I said. Just pullout the hard drive."

"I wouldn't even know what it looks like."

"But you're an engineer!" I sputtered. I couldn't believe that EGGDEW, a guy who installed his own Unix workstation, who has his own personal MATLAB license, who uses computers to analyze NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) Doppler radar didn't know what his hard drive looked like.

I was and remained stunned.

Someone Stole My Kickboard

I've been known to be absent minded, leaving things and then wasting time hunting for them later. This was not one of those times.

The only difference from last night's swim and my usual routine was that I sat on the can before I showered. (I realize that this falls under the TMI (Too Much Information) heading but...) It meant that my kickboard was left unattended while I attended to a call of nature. But why would anyone take my kickboard?

As you can see nobody else would not be able to use the kickboard at my pool - it's so recognizable. I looked around the locker room, I had a friend look for it out in the car. She even checked the Ladies bathroom. Maybe I'd handed it to her and she'd left it in the bathroom. Nope. The kickboard was nowhere to be found.

I borrowed a board from the pool and during my swim tried to think the situation through. Maybe I'd put the kickboard on top of the lockers. I hadn't looked there, but that would be so out of character. I just couldn't come up with any explanation other than the kickboard had been stolen.

As I was showering after my swim it suddenly hit me, maybe someone had thought the kickboard had been discarded and threw it away completing some previously unrecognized cycle of nature.

At this point it might be pertinent to explain that I'd pulled the missing kickboard from one of the pool's trash cans a year or so before. (I have no pride.) I intended to use it as a backup when my old blue kickboard eventually wore away. You see the old blue one served me well for a number of years before starting a slow disintegration. Each semester I thought I could get another semester out of the blue one before I would need a replacement kickboard. My friend actually bought me a yellow kickboard to have on hand when the blue one couldn't be used any more. I actually got two years out of the blue kickboard before I - this is hard to explain - misplaced it.

I'm sure the blue kickboard is resting comfortably under something I own. One day it will see the light of day and give me another semester or two of service. Be that as it may, sometime between the time my friend bought me a kickboard and I misplaced the blue one I pulled the missing yellow kickboard out of the trash.

As I left the pool to shower I mentioned to the other guy in the locker room that it seemed someone had taken my kickboard. "Y'mean the one with the broken handle?" "Yeah. I can't believe it."

While showering it hit me, "Hey! Maybe someone threw it out." I looked in two of the trash cans in the locker, but it wasn't there. The guy in locker yelled, "You're right! It's here." My kickboard was in the third garbage can in the locker.

So this tale of high drama ends with a guy reunited with his kickboard, faith in the foodness of others restored, and a moral tale about the unexpected consequences of the urge for cleanliness laid out for all to see.

My Pusher Calls

So there I was at work when a co-worker says the phone call is for me. I didn't place the name at first - it's been over 6 months since we spoke. It was my old CD pusher, Mike.

Mike recounted the last half year: he use to send out a weekly e-mail of used CDs he'd picked up from libraries, garage sales, store closings, etc. The lists were enhanced with his commentary. (Mike is especially knowledgeable about jazz.) Being one of his regulars had certain benefits: Mike knew what I might like, knew that I only bought CDs with the original artwork and inserts, he'd look out for stuff I wanted, and he'd take back stuff which didn't work on my Aiwa. (There were CDs which played fine on Mike's players and computers, but my Aiwa's 20 year old system is showing it's age.)

When Mike found that the response to his e-mail list was falling off he decided to go the eBay/Amazon route. His jazz stuff is selling, but the city-folk music isn't. ("City folk" is one of those descriptions which seems immediately obvious to those who recognize it and a non sequitur to those who don't. As I understand it the term characterizes the music of WFUV (Fordham University), WMVY (Martha's Vineyard) on the east coast: hip, urban, but with roots in folk music. I yield to any authoritative definition.)

In this age of the virtual experience I suggested something classic: what about going to his house and pawing through his CDs? He like the idea. Over the next few weeks or so he'll stack them up and I'll be taking a look and listen. All the money I didn't spend when he stopped his e-mailing may get spent. (I think of music as a kinder gentler drug. It keeps on giving until you lose your hearing late in life.)

Back to My Music

It just dawned on my that in the last few weeks, as I worked on a program with a drop dead date, that I'd started to listen to CDs in almost the same way that I listened to record albums when I was a senior in college.

In those days we usually listened to the entire side of a record. (I can't remember if anyone had a record changer so they could listen to multiple sides without getting up.) In those days I was the only guy in a house with 8 or 9 other guys who did not have a turntable. It was more a matter of me feeling impoverished, rather than real impoverishment or an matter of self-denial. But, be that as it may, my time in that house had an accompanying soundtrack of Jimi Hendix, Cream, David Blue, Tim Buckley, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Jim Kweskin Jug Band, Koerner, Ray, and Glover, and the Doors. To this day, when I hear a song from those albums I find myself anticipating the next track.

Those of us from that era seem to have listened to album the same way. The very first time the album was played we sat on the floor, back to the bed, transfixed by the liner notes. And the album played over and over again the tunes impressed into our brains. If the liner notes had the lyrics we remembered them from simple repetition. (Without the liner notes, "A girl with kaleidescope eyes" became "A girl with colitis goes by", "'Scuse me while I kiss the sky" was sung as "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy", and "She's a must to avoid" got an unanticipated frisson as "She's a muscular boy.")

Now I have an old Aiwa boom box with a CD player. Sometimes I have to prop the boom box at an angle for some of the CDs to start to play, but once the CD starts I can lower the box and listen to the whole CD. And then start it up again and listen again. (It just occurred to me that I could press the repeat button.)

Occasionally I have to turn off the music so I can determine if a σ is the standard deviation for a population or a sample, but now the music has become the soundtrack to the program I'm writing.

Over the course of a few weeks I've played, Uakti's "Aguas da Amazonia" (music by Philip Glass), Paul Simon's "Graceland", John William's "The Ultimate Guitar Collection", Rosanne Cash's "Black Cadillac, the Dixie Chicks "Wide Open Spaces", and I'm now listening to David Berkeley's "After the Wrecking Ships".

Every once and a while I throw in Ottmar Liebert & Luna Negra's "Viva!".

Some years ago I bought a Richard Thompson CD and was not impressed by what I heard. I listened to it as background music. I gave the CD another listen to confirm my opinion, but for some reason I decided to read the insert as I listened and my opinion changed. The very dull lightning flash: it's words AND music. It was something I'd managed to overlook in the need to actually get something done.

Perhaps it's something to look forward to in retirement.