WELL, MY BANK FAILED...

...did yours?

Washington Mutual Goes Tits Up.

I feel proud to be part of the largest bank failure in U.S. history. Something I can tell my kids about when we come home to our refrigerator crate.

ALL THAT GLITTERS...

...is not plastic.

It arrived in the mail a few weeks ago and I didn't really know what to do with it. Without asking me, my bank replaced my normal ATM card with a gold debit card. Gold. For a guy who once lived in his car, that's not the kind of color I had ever expected to see staring back at me from my wallet.

I remember when gold cards were first introduced in the 1980s. I was working in a fish store and some guy handed me the colored piece of plastic. He gave me a look that indicated I was supposed to be impressed. I just smiled and began leafing through the newsprint mailer the credit card companies sent us each week.

If you're older than 40, you don't need to read the following paragraph: You see, kids, there wasn't always an Internet or credit card machines and stuff like that. Instead, each time we had a credit card purchase, we had to look up in the credit card mailer to see if the card had been cancelled or used in some kind of fraud. If there was any question, we had to call a toll-free phone number.

Checking on credit numbers was a time consuming and cumbersome process and most customers would get impatient with us. But Gold Card Guy was quite upset that I would even dare check his card. It was a GOLD CARD! What part of GOLD CARD didn't I understand? They don't just hand these out to anyone.

As it turns out, his card wasn't stolen, and his purchase went through without any further hassle. But I learned an important lesson from this exchange: people with gold cards are dickheads.

In the decades since their introduction, credit card companies really will hand out gold cards to just about anyone. The colored plastic arms war has produced platinum cards, and even mythical black American Express Cards that can't be applied for and are only for the super rich. (They really do exist. I knew the guy who ran the call center for the a competing white card put out by Visa. But that's another story.)

So gold status in the credit card world doesn't mean as much as it used to. As near as I can tell, everyone who has a Washington Mutual ATM card now has a gold card. But I'm still uncomfortable whipping out a gold piece of plastic when I buy something. I feel like that wanker in the fish store all those years ago.

Today I actually made my first physical purchase with the card. I was buying pizza.

"How do you want to pay for that?"

I hand him my new gold card and say, "They just sent me this. I didn't ask for it or anything."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, it's just... they mail these gold things to anybody. I don't know why."

"It's all fine by me as long as the computer approves it."

"Oh yeah, I understand. It's just odd, you know... they paint your ATM card gold and you're supposed to feel honored by it or something."

"Sign here."

"I mean, they're everywhere. What's the big deal with it being gold, right?"

"Your pizza will be ready in about 15 minutes."

"If it takes longer, that's no big deal for me. I'm just a normal guy. I'll wait like everybody else."

"We'll bring it right out to you when it's done."

Overall, I think it went pretty well. Perhaps I am cut out for gold card membership after all.

RADIO GA GA

I've really been nothing short of a selfish bastard for the last 5 months. Back in March, I stumbled upon the podcast of a program called Radio Lab, and I haven't shared it with you. I've listened to more than a dozen episodes now, and I firmly believe it is the best program ever broadcast on radio.

That's really saying something right now. While traditional over-the-air commercial radio is so awful I can't bring myself to listen to it, public radio has been creating some great programming. And with the advent of podcasting, anyone with an Internet hookup has access to great shows from all over the world. On my iPod right now I've got Australian shows on brain science and sound art, a music nerd talk show out of Chicago, weekly drum and bass mixes from the UK, and, of course, the biggest radio nerd show of them all, This American Life.

But Radio Lab stands out even among this distinguished company. The show is about science and builds on the basic This American Life storytelling platform. You could call it This Scientific American Life. But while TAL takes an abstract idea or notion and invites a variety of writers to do stories on that subject, Radio Lab takes things in a different direction.

Hosts Jad Abumrad and Martin Krulwich take a concept like time, or morality, or memory and then launch a one hour exploration on the subject. But the result is much deeper and richer than that simple explanation can provide. Abumrad and Krulwich have a talent for taking mind bogglingly complex subjects and making them interesting and accessible.

But Radio Lab is out for more than mere edutainment... they're out to solve all the mysteries of Life, the Universe, and Everything in the course of 60 minutes. And what's amazing is that they almost succeed. A program on zoos reveals insights on materialism and happiness. An exploration of space becomes a moving story about enduring love. Music is even found in a looped sample of an audio recording. Every episode contains a jaw-dropping, mind-bending, pull-your-car-off-the-side-of-the-road-and-listen-more-closely moment.

As a matter of fact, I wouldn't listen in your car at all. Instead, get out some headphones. The show is expertly edited and a good set of headphones helps bring out all the details.

My only complaint with the show is that there isn't enough of it. They make about 5 per year for reasons I don't understand. But there are about 15 episodes available either via iTunes or on the show's website, and they are all excellent examples of what can happen when radio is in the hands of intelligent, creative, and curious people. I recommend it as highly as I possibly can.

OUT OF THE DARKNESS?

After more than two weeks, of delay, I've got my laptop back. Almost immediately, things started going wrong. My browser kept changing my homepage and something kept hijacking my Google searches.

But I've run some more trouble-shooting programs and I think I may have quashed this latest outbreak. So it appears the ordeal may be over. I look forward to resuming more regular transmissions this week.

DIGITAL DARKNESS... THE HEAD-FAKE EDITION

This morning I received the joyous news that my computer was given a clean bill of health and could come home once again. I rushed over to the repair store and parted with an obscene amount of cash and took my laptop home again.

I plugged it in and hit start and within no time I was not back online. For some reason, my new "fixed" computer was unable to access anything online. This was most disconcerting as I didn't have that problem when I took it in. Perhaps the technicians didn't understand that when I said "fixed" I meant "repaired" not "neutered."

The computer goes back into the shop tomorrow. I have no idea when I'll see it again.

In other news, I found an old Palm Pilot I haven't used in a long time. Somewhere, I've got a full size keyboard that plugs into it. If I can get them together, I would at lease be able to write without putting pen to paper. My little Palm and keyboard setup was once considered quite impressive. In 2001, I was on a flight to France and I was doing a little bit of writing with my Palm. The flight attendant saw my collapsible keyboard and thought it was really cool. She paid lots of attention as I showed how it folded down into a container the size of a cassette tape. She was French and quite beautiful. I was quite married.

Alas, my nifty technology had arrived too late to make me cool to exotic foreign women. Of course, that nifty technology was a birthday present from an extremely awesome American woman. So I guess that more than evens things out.

I'm completely out of podcasts.

DIGITAL DARKNESS-DAY 3

I've been trying to keep a diary of my life without my laptop, but it's not easy. What am I supposed to write on? Pen and paper? I don't think so. It would be easy to say that constant use of computers has caused me to lose the ability to write things by hand. But that overlooks the fact that I was never able to write things by hand. I have handwriting so bad it actually counts as a learning disability. (really) But I've got time on someone else's laptop for a moment so I thought I'd check in.

First off, all the rhythms of my life are messed up without my computer. When I wake up, I have a routine. I stagger out of bed, update my podcasts, check my email, and then brush my teeth while my iPod is syncing. Now I get up and I don't know what to do. Of course, I have discovered that I have two children that are usually awake when I get up. Apparently, they are the same two children I have been posting photos of on this very blog for the past 9 months. Who knew? They're actually quite cute in person, too. So I guess there is some good that has come from all this.

But it is the lack of podcasts that is really wearing me down. In my job, I have to drive a lot, and podcasts are my way to pass that time. I have long since given up on radio, what with its commercials and insistence on playing shows and music on a schedule and not stopping their programming when I get out of the car. Luckily, I had about 18 hours of podcast programming on my iPod when I sent my laptop off to the Mayo Clinic. But things are getting a little thin now. Gone are the back episodes of "On the Media" and the Hospital Drum and Bass podcast. Now I'm actually listening to those BBC "In Our Time" podcasts that I downloaded just to make me feel smart. "In Our Time" features a panel of scholars speaking at length on some subject like Greek love poetry or symmetry or some obscure philosopher. I have listened to them all now, and I don't feel smart, I feel very stupid.

Right now, all that's left is an Australian program called "The Night Air." "The Night Air" is a program that mixes elements of "This American Life" with sound art and even some hip hop production values. I once actually heard a host of the program utter the following sentence regarding a fellow sound artist, "David works primarily in the medium of VHS tape hiss." I have only a few more episodes left, then I'm left with nothing but... the radio.

As an experiment, I listened to the radio this week, and it was just as lame as I remembered it. It pains me to say this because radio is my first love. I actually worked as a DJ for a while when I was 17 and it literally changed the course of my life. But things have changed a lot. Now all you hear is automation and angry right-wingers. (NPR is the exception, but I podcast most of their stuff anyway.)

So anyway, I turned on the radio a few days back and heard some man yelling at the top of his lungs about Iraq timetables or something like that. He was screaming so loud I thought he'd damage his studio microphone. I was about to turn the radio off and enjoy the silence, when I heard something even more disturbing on this radio station... me!

That's right, it was me reading a story on zebra mussels. Our station has a deal with a radio station group in town and reporters have to record radio versions of most of their stories. I've been sending out stories for more than a year, but I never had any idea what happened to them once I hit "send" on the mp3 file. But there I was, on conservative talk radio. Ah, if my parents could see me now.

So I'm hoping to hear from the repair place soon an learn that I can have my digital life back. But for now, I'm drifting back into the darkness. Until next time...

INTO THE DIGITAL DARKNESS

For some time, my laptop computer has served as something of a public Internet kiosk. Due to that, and some seriously outdated virus protection software, my computer has come down with a cold. So today I dropped it off at the local computer repair place. Most days, you can drop it off in the morning and you can pick it up when you're done with work.

But it's not going to work out that way this time around. After whisking my laptop off into the nether-world behind the service window, I was informed that they were backed up 3-5 days. This is no good. I've become quite dependent on my digital umbilical cord. Now I have to go without it for up to a week. I depend on it for the bulk of my interpersonal communication, for news of the outside world, and for my beloved podcasts. But now it's all gone... for a while anyway.

In terms of this blog, this news means there will likely be less frequent updates this week. I've got Internet access at work, but I really don't have time to write blog posts while I'm there. While I'm gone, however, I'll keep a journal of my cold-turkey computer comedown. I don't know what I'll write it on. Pen and paper? That seems unlikely. And how will I distribute it? In pamphlet form? Perhaps.

If the pamphlet thing doesn't work, then I guess you'll just have to wait until my computer returns to see how it went. And when that happens, I promise I'll post another set of baby pictures. Until then, pray for my little laptop. He's only 4 years old. Much too young to die.

WE'VE ALL THOUGHT ABOUT IT

But this guy actually did it.

We've installed an automation system at work, and things can get pretty rough sometimes. Some days, you just want to freak out when things go wrong. But here in market size #141, we're too professional for that. So when the robots decide to pump the show's audio into the studio really loud, we just soldier on. But when you get to the larger markets like, say, Honolulu, well... they're kinda babies.

SPRING BACK

Well, the last weekend in March is behind us, and I'm sure you all enjoyed the spring ritual of setting your clocks back an hour. Some of you might have looked at that sentence and asked two questions.

1) Don't you set your clocks ahead an hour for daylight saving time?

2) Didn't daylight saving time start three weeks ago?

You're right on both counts but, at the same time, you're wrong. As you might imagine, the confusion is the result of a Technological Marvel of the Modern Age (TM).

When I was living in Texarkana I had a few problems. The first was that I lived in Texarkana. The second was an unreliable power supply. For whatever reason, the power went out in Texarkana with alarming frequency. Perhaps it was a move on the power company's part to show solidarity with their brothers in Baghdad. Perhaps the utility company didn't think we really needed electricity all the time. But whatever the case, it was not unusual to come home from work and find all the clocks blinking.

After a while, I got annoyed and bought a self-setting clock. Now before you get too impressed, this was not one of those fancy clocks that receives radio transmissions from the atomic clock in the US Naval Observatory. Those are expensive, and they certainly aren't for sale at a Target in Texarkana. Nope, I got a $15 clock radio from a company I've never heard of called Emerson Research.

The "Smart Set" clock has some inexpensive computer chip inside that runs a simple time program. It also has a calendar function. All you do is plug it in, and within seconds it knows the date and time. You do have to do is set the time zone, but that's the only alteration you should ever have to make. Ever. Not even for daylight saving time.

Then congress had to go mess everything up.

Despite my clock's designation as "smart," it didn't know that congress changed the starting date for daylight saving time this year. In fairness, it also didn't know about the massive oil company subsidies stuffed inside the energy bill that changed daylight saving time. So I guess I can't blame it.

So what that meant was, three weeks ago, when daylight saving time took effect, my clocks (yes, I would up going back to the store and buying more) did NOT change. The only way I could get them to display the proper time was to LIE to my clocks and tell them I was living in the Mountain time zone. Can you understand the humiliation of having my clocks thinking that I live in the lamest time zone in the US? It's not anything I would wish on my worst enemy.

So three weeks after I set all my clocks ahead, another thing happened. My "smart" clocks decided daylight saving time had come to the Mountain Time Zone and jumped forward. I actually saw it happen. I was trying to get a teething baby back to sleep when I glanced at the clock. It was 1:59 AM. Moments later, I looked up and it was 3:00.

(That's not some sort of literary device I'm employing there. It's not like I'm trying to describe how quickly time can pass when you're sitting with a screaming baby. It's all literal. It was just moment later, and the clock really did say 3... even though it wasn't. Everything clear? Good, then let's move on.)

As I saw the clock change, I realized that I was one of a few, proud Americans who won't just change their clocks twice a year. Instead, I get to change mine FOUR times a year.

I was complaining about this at work the other day (I complain about a lot of things at work) and someone mentioned that these clocks are cheap and easily replaceable. Why don't I just go to Target and plunk down another $15 for an updated clock? Nice try. Congress has changed daylight saving time on a trial basis. That's right, they could decide to change it back in a year or two if they wish. And by then I probably would have donated the old clocks to poor people who don't care about daylight saving time. What am I supposed to do then, huh?

I apologize for that outburst, it was uncalled for. I also apologize to poor people who are passionate about daylight saving time. It seems I should end this post before I cause any more trouble. But any suggestions on how to resolve this would be most welcome.

STAGES OF GRIEF

Some time ago, I read a New York Times article that told the story of people who had lost their iPods or had them stolen. It said the people actually went through the stages of grieving one might expect if they had lost a family member. I thought it was all a bit silly, until last Thursday.

I came home from a lovely day of skiing up and went to sync my iPod up with my computer when I get a distressing message. It says that my iPod had become corrupted. At first, I can’t figure out what that means. Had my iPod floated no-bid contracts for Iraq reconstruction to Halliburton? Had my iPod accepted campaign donations in exchange for a peerage? (That’s an appointment to the British House of Lords, for all you non-political nerds.) These scenarios strike me as unlikely, so, without really knowing it, I enter:

Denial
Whenever my iPod won’t sync, I just unplug it and plug it back in. In a matter of seconds, I’ll see that little circle and slash that tells me that all is well. But it’s not working this time. I repeat the process a few more times, with similar results, then I reset my lil’ buddy. No luck.

Finally, I resign myself to more drastic measures. It’s time to “restore” the iPod. This maneuver wipes out pretty much everything on an iPod and brings it back to its factory settings.

I really don’t want to do this, because I have about 6,000 songs on my iPod and I don’t want to wait 12 hours for them to re-sync. But I love my little iPod. Julie gave it to me for Christmas in 2004. It was a beacon of light during my dark months in Texarkana. When Apple began supporting podcasts, it weaned me completely from broadcast radio (which is a good thing in Texarkana).

I hold my breath and hit the “restore” button on iTunes. After a few minutes, it instructs me to disconnect the iPod from my computer and plug it into a wall outlet. I do as instructed and plug my iPod back into my computer. That’s when I arrive at:

Anger
Some software updater comes up on my screen, and moments later, my computer crashes. Once things are up and running again, I try once more. iTunes instructs me to “restore” my iPod again, but I get an error message that says I don’t have enough software to restore it. But of course I don’t have enough software! That’s why I’m trying to “restore” it!

At this point, it’s 6 AM. I have been at it for more than 8 hours. I go to bed for some brief, fitful sleep. I dream that my iPod is better, that all I had to do was give it a little rest, and it would come back to me. (I wish I was joking about that last detail.)

I wake up 3 hours later, head back out to my computer, and find myself:

Bargaining
With no food and little sleep over the past 14 hours, I’m starting to lose my mind. I can’t stand the thought of my little iPod dying. But I can’t seem to bring it back from the dead. I’m also starting to realize that I’m being completely irrational, but it doesn’t calm my anxiety.

After spending hours going through Apple’s customer support menus online, I feel I may have made a breakthrough. My computer recognizes my iPod, and I’m allowed to rename it, and all that’s left is a single button push to complete the restoration process. I hit the button, and the waiting game begins. Hours pass. I get on my knees and start praying to my computer.

“Please. Please. Let this work. I’ll do anything. Please.”

Then the bad graphic comes up again, and it’s obvious that all is lost.

Depression
The last page on the Apple site tells me my iPod must be mailed in for service. I start filling out forms and contemplate life without an iPod for 6 weeks. I’ll have to lug around CDs. I’ll have to listen to (say it isn’t so) the radio. I’ll only be able to listen to programs when they’re actually broadcast. I t seems too awful to imagine. Then I get to the part where the web site cranks out a price estimate: $255. The cost of a new video iPod: $249.

I rest my head on my computer keyboard and fight back a sob. (I really wish I was making that last detail up.)

Acceptance
About this time, Julie walks into the living room. She’s been busy working all day and has watched this drama unfold from afar.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Bring my iPod back to life.”

“I can’t watch this anymore, let’s go.”

“What?”

“Valentines Day is two weeks away. We’re getting you another iPod.”

We drive to the store. I’m dressed in black. I pick out a black iPod. I feel like owning another white one would be too much like trying to replace a beloved pet. I am still grieving! A little respect for the dead, please.

I get the new iPod home. I name it “Matty” after me, but with a “y” at the end. All my songs sync overnight. But can I make myself vulnerable again? Can I allow myself to be hurt again? Time will tell.

I’m growing to love my new iPod, but I will never forget my first. Bon voyage, my beloved storage device. Bon voyage.