I Knew You Were Trouble When You Logged In

Right now I'd be willing to bet that a dial up connection would be faster than my computer.  Web pages are loading or not loading as though there's a temperamental person on the other end deciding.

But the damnedest thing of all was that my Norton antivirus was nowhere to be found.  It's like being dropped into a back of zombies and Daryll just bailed on you.  Only Daryll would never do that, would you?

Where the FUCK is my Norton anti-virus shit, what am I paying you people for?  I ran a few system searches for Norton and came up empty handed.  I felt hopeless and alone in this struggle.  Hell, I'd even take that floating paper clip with two eye balls if he'd help me with anything other than a letter.

 

Paperclip:  Hi!  Can I help you?
Me: Yes, you can help me with a strongly worded letter to Norton antivirus or a missing application report to put Norton's face on the back of a milk carton.

So I pull out my phone and call Norton's antivirus support and am greeted on the other line by a chipper fellow from India named Atul (Pronounced ah-TOOL).  I don't know where I exactly land on the customer service end whether I'd prefer to talk to a person or the automated machine.  Both can be helpful or infuriating depending on the company/customer service rep.  Atul assures me he can fix this and I believe his tone of voice which has a certain "we're in this together" quality.  I can practically feel his arm around my shoulder.  Atul walks me through the first couple sets of instructions and is extremely specific in what I am to type in the address bar.  He even goes to the point of using (that thing with the letters and the words) so as to not be misunderstood.  I don't find his accent difficult to understand and compliment his English.  Because my computer is crawling to open anything, there's ample downtime for small talk.  Atul asks me where I'm from and vice versa.  I discover that it's 9PM in New Delhi where he is compared to my 11AM.

But you know what Atul?  We're looking at the same moon.  Boop.

We've built a rapport, but we've reached the point in our relationship where Atul wants to take it to the next level.  This is a terrifying/exhilarating proposition.  We haven't even known each other that long.  He asks my permission gently, he explains exactly what he's going to do to me (I mean my computer).  I feel exposed, but I trust Atul; he's given me no reason not to.  He's going to make everything all better.  So I make the connection and Atul takes control of my computer.

Atul:  You see me moving the mouse on your screen?
Me:  Yes, yes I do.

I take a moment to wonder if he's taunting me with it displaying his control, or just demonstrating to me that I need to leave my hands the fuck off the steering wheel and Atul my Hindu brother's got this shit.  I trust it's the latter.  If I were him, I'm not sure I could resist the temptation to troll.  Meatspin comes to mind.

He opens up some sort of diagnostic scan thing (out of thin air it seems) and begins scanning my computer.  No surprise, my computer comes back positive for mal-ware, registry errors, and it's in a critical operating state.

So I hear critical and think we've reached critical mass, this is it, the computer could melt down any second!  GET DOWN!  SHE'S GONNA BLOW!  Atul, ever the professional, pulls a Third Eye Blind and talks me off the ledge.  He explains that this can all be resolved he's just going to put me on hold and get his supervisor.

Wait, what?  Atul can't handle this himself?  This must be really bad.  In my line of work this would be the equivalent of somebody's groin site hemorrhaging after an angiogram and I'm attempting to appear calm as I've got my outstretched arms on that geyser of a puncture site.  You'll be fine though, I'm going to call the Doctor.

As my panic subsides another revelation occurs.  My pupils dilate, my heart speeds, and my hands clench.  I didn't call them to diagnose and fix my computer!  I called them to halp me find Norton.  So why didn't Atul do that?!  I retrace my steps frantically googling the norton tech support number on my phone and to my horror the number I dialed was the first one!  (Stupid, stupid, stupid!)  Sure the description had the word Norton in it, but wouldn't someone trying to sell you stuff use the keywords you would search?  Especially if you were desperate?!  I recall this famous example of a google search for Dominos, and the first number that pops up is Pizza Hutt's.

Meanwhile that silver tongued Atul has been working me, greasing me up for his supervisor to come in and finish the job!  It was all a setup!    Atul!  How could you?!  I trusted you!  I told you things I've never told any other tech support person.  But no!  You're all the same! I want to call Taylor Swift and Adele and eat gallons of Ben and Jerry's.

Betrayal and hurt evaporate into quick thinking and malice as I'm still on hold awaiting Atul's supervisor.  I turn off my computer and my phone at the same time severing our connection and our friendship.  I'm pacing my living room, cursing my naivete when my phone rings a 1-800 number.  A gentleman with a stern, idonthavetimeforthisbullshit voice introduces himself as Atul's supervisor.  I don't give this bro a New Delhi minute to pitch me.

Supervisor:  Let me ask you a question-
Me: No let me ask you a question.  Do you work for Norton?
Supervisor:  We're an independant company that supports Norton products.
Me: Aha.  So it's no accident your number is the one that appears on the top when you type Norton antivirus.
Supervisor:  Sir if you just-
Me:  Nah we're done here, I've decided to take a different direction with dealing my computer problems.

CLICK CLICK BOOM!

They almost had me!  I was complacent and vulnerable and almost bought more anti virus software.  I'm convinced now that the virus makers and the anti virus companies are in it together ya know?  Supply and demand.

Tending Bar, Hipsters, and Chillwave Music

Every decade or so I'll have a song that is my favorite song ever.  "I wish you were here" by Incubus ranks as the song that defined and informed my teen years.  It's that song that always works.  It demands to be played and refuses to be skipped in any playlist or cd.  The new song that has become emblematic my twenties is Washed Out's "Feel it all around."  Instantly calming and energetic at the same time and a certain (make up a word quick, quick, you fool!) vibeability (nailed it!).  The song has a fantastic baseline, great rhythm, and Ernest Greene's breathy vocals seem to float in from time to time caressing the track and not overstaying their welcome.  The album is called Life of Lesiure and I can't think of a more fitting title or pursuit in my late twenties.

It's pretty clear that I'm being shamelessly selfish.  I indulge often in the things that make me happy.  The girl (is it a girl?) from the album cover in the ocean at sunset is a powerful and lasting image.  We want to be her.  We want her life.  This album's mandate is to do what you makes you happy.  Relax.  We're not here for very long.

This is where I think they hipsters have the right idea.  Sure they're unwashed (and unashamed!), and have a know-it-all quality that some find repulsive. It would make me a hypocrite to judge them for this.  Judge not lest ye be judged said someone of importance (was that a biblical reference?) However, they've got the giving 0.0 fucks about stuff dialed in.  There's a certain ballsiness that comes with working a few hours a week at a coffee shop and spending the rest of the time hanging out, drinking PBRs, and engaging in other hipster activities.  However, I picture these activities to be largely outdoors in the sunlight, whilst they were oversized sunglasses and just hang out.  Probably listening to chillwave songs, or other obscure artists while I'm working 12 hour shifts and dying a little more each day.

Fucking Don Draper.  His embodiment of 60s masculinity and preference for whiskey are never overplayed or discouraged.  His drink of choice is the very appropriately termed old fashioned.  I doubt that choosing was accidental.  I ordered an old fashioned at the Armory, an upscale cocktail bar in Portland.  I felt part douche and part boss.  More boss than douche considering the venue.  You can pull off ordering an old fashioned in a nicer establishment, but in those dive bars you're likely to be met with an about face served straight up with a twist of fuck you.  After the first sip...

It had everything.  The smoky bourbon, the sweet from the sugar, the citrus from the muddled orange, and the crisp bitter from the angostura wrapping it all up.  Each sip invited another adding to the complexity and my questions.  How did they mix this cocktail? How soon before I can have another before people judge me? And how can I make my own version of this classic?

In perfecting my own old fashioned I stumbled into the humble art of bartending.  When entertaining friends, it's more personal and a higher level of hosting to mix them a drink.  Granted, always oblige to the guest's preferences, however offering to mix a drink demonstrates a greater level of flair, and a fun skill set.  I find it enjoyable to identify the flavors and spirits my guests enjoy and mix a cocktail combining those ingredients into a balanced and unique drink.  It's on par with being a mad scientist (albiet one that gets everyone intoxicated).

I joke that regardless of whether I'm a nurse or a bartender, either way I'm pushing something.

After several soirees, I contemplated going pro bartender, but not before I readily identified all the cliches and why John Cusack would make the ideal bartender (another post).

Then again, I'd be no slouch behind a bar but only if it remained a hobby rather than a job.  Therein lies the beauty of me potentially behind a bar:  I don't need to be there.  I can go all half baked anytime I want.  That's a very liberating feeling.

Man charged in Waterville home invasion

WATERVILLE (WGME) -- Waterville Police are investigating a bizarre home invasion.

On Friday, officers say a woman woke up to a man in her bedroom, without a shirt on and covered in soap.

Police got a 911 call from the victim's home on Chaplin Street.  They say 34-year-old Edwell Gethers broke into the victim's home.  While the victim called police, she says the suspect grabbed the phone from her, took the batteries out and ran off.

Officers found the suspect a short time later.  They say he was incoherant as they arrested him.

Gethers is charged with burglary and is being held at the Kennebec County Jail.

Things are cooking in Waterville!  Am I the only one on team Gethers here?  Guy was probably taking an innocent shower when he realized he had run out of soap.  That's like running out of toilet paper while you're on the bowl x4.  No biggie!  Why bother to dry off, when you can slop on over to your neighbors' and work up a good lather there?  Can a dude get some LAVA soap around here (I give it 6/1 odds it was dove in an old ladies house.  Dove SCREAMS old lady soap).

PS.  How about taking the batteries out of the phone?  Genius get away plan.  You're still a guy covered in soap, you're not exactly where's waldo.

On Recklessness into Your Late Twenties

With competitive sports out of my life, every so often I get a little restless.  Luckily for me, there are plenty of outlets to still challenge myself physically, compete and be reckless.  What's better is many of them are even legal in the United States!

It's a guy thing.

Exercising for the sake of health has never been satisfying enough.  Yes, I will exercise to stay slim because I'm vain.  But to go the extra mile (pun intended) it has to be for a purpose.  If there's an event for which I need to train, I will work especially hard.  I want to do well sure, but I want to not look stupid a whole lot more.

2 Years ago a friend approached me to do "Into the Mud" a 2.5 mile obstacle course race in Gorham. I ran one of the best races I can remember.  Torched it, totally in the zone. The obstacles hardly me down boasting a 16.45 time and placing third.  But it was a fun run, un-timed, and no awards given by place.  It gave me that rush that running alone cannot deliver.  That summer I sought out something more competittive/adventerous.  Enter the spartan race.

The spartan race doesn't have the same name rand recognition as the tough mudder but what the spartan race lakes in notoriety it makes up for in sheer badassness.  The nearest race was in Amesbury Mass.  As fate would have it a hurricane struck and Sunday's race was cancelled.  I was ever so disappointed having worked that hard for naught. 

It is interesting to note that the song Iron by Woodkid was and still is my power song.  I discovered it around this time as the summer before Assassin's Creed Revelations.  That song, single handedly fueled my training sessions and grueling runs.  I was coasting off all the adrenaline Iron makes you have.  Testosterone x1000.

What song is that you ask?  Oh no worries, I've only referenced it in every single post it seems.  Here you go.  I'll give you a few minutes to watch it then destroy all the furniture in your house as a result of the ensuing adrenaline rush.

Are you still here or are you at the base of your neighborhood with a battleaxe (where you get that thing anyway?) challenging anyone and everyone to a fight?

Flash forward next year and we're running in the make up race.  I wasn't in the condition I was the year prior but as enthusiastic.  It was the hardest thing I've ever done.  No exaggeration   I wasn't aware that if you failed to complete the obstacles the first attempt you owed 30 burpees on the spot.  I forgot how many obstacles there actually were, but I did not forget how tedious and taxing they could be.  For instance, it wasn't enough that you hit your target (a makeshift scarecrow) with a javalin from roughly 25 yards away, you had to throw it with enough velocity to make it stick in him.  I channeled Achillies and impaled the fucking guy.  Also I silently, reluctantly, thanked my college track coach for making me throw javalin.

There was a rope climb, a quintessential test of upper body strength, but to throw a fuck you spin on it, all competitors start neck deep in water.

Our team of 4 split unofficially into teams of 2.  Salvo and I being the quicker, smaller, scrappy team to John and Sam's fucking beast mode.  It made for an interesting equalizer though.  The obstacles themselves favored brute strength where the demands of the hill running favored the smaller athletes.  It's a stretch to say that burpees favor anyone.  Keeping them to a minimum is advisable. A set of 30 consecutive burpees in and of themselves is taxing, never mind mid race on uneven muddy terrain. 

Their slogan is "The Spartan Race: You'll Know at the Finish Line."  They should change it to "The Spartan Race:  Remind Yourself You Still Have Balls."  Maybe offensive to the women that do the race (and do it well).

Terms of Enrampagement

It's a working title.


Monday is garbage day and as Rocco from Rocco's Modern life will tell you, "Garbage day is a very dangerous day."  Last week I beat the trash man to the punch before the truck was making it's second go around.  Having just come back from a vacation there was only one trash bag so I didn't see the need to keep it in the barrel right?

Wrong.

Within minutes after putting the bag to the curb seagulls and crows were beaking that thing to high Hades.  I began furiously searching my place for objects to hurl at those foul creatures.  I eventually settled on just running out and yelling obscenities at them.  I had to pick up my stinking scattered trash AND use another insanely overpriced Portland trash bag.  Irate, I swore revenge and tomorrow I will have it.

Cry havoc and let slip the hogs of war!


Shit.

I just looked it up and it's dogs of war.  Whatever farm animal of war, let them slip.  I knew it was Shakespeare so half credit.

Tomorrow I bait the trap, trash bag unprotected and in the open, LACED with alka seltzer dissolved in ammonia (Not yet sure if this is plausible).  Then rampage.  Hey seagulls, did you see Regis today?

BOOM!


I almost want to be wearing camo and smoking a cigarette doing this (although the two are somewhat contradictory).

Can The Old Horse Still Run?

Coming out of retirement.  Contacted by one of my college room mates who wants me to anchor his 4x400 relay team.  Haven't run competitively for 5 or 6 years.  What the hell am I thinking?  15 dollar entry fee was probably what I was thinking and a chance to relive the glory days except for one thing.

Division III track was hardly the glory days.

I performed well, hardly won any races, but above all, it just wasn't fun anymore.

In getting a chance to participate in a track meet once again, the temptation was there to attempt events that I've never done, always wanted to, but the coach forbade it.  Enter the steeplechase.  Ridiculous concept to run a long distance race with hurdles and a friggen pool of water.  It was tempting to consider but ultimately for my own piece of mind, I need to answer just one question:

Do I still have competitive 400m speed?

A murderous race blending speed and endurance to both of their respective limits.  I found I was adept at running fast for longer periods of time.  There were those who could run longer, and those who could run quicker, but to do both in a race is rare.  It's a race of heart, not strategy.

When it gets to that last 100m, cinder blocks in your legs, battery acid in your viens, and tunnel vision setting in, that's when you find out what you're made of.  All form goes to hell and you just push.  I miss that.

Not thrilled about going against college athletes that have been training for months but I haven't worked out this hard or consistently since... ever, really.  My old college will be there and the motivation to beat their athletes as like a "screw you. Bet you wish I ran past my freshman year" thing is lacking.  That would be making it about them when I'd rather just run my balls off and hopefully post a time that I can live with. 

Everyone wants to continue their legacy.

Achilles

Working an overnight into St. Patty's day. Thinking about buying some 6 dollar tee shirts but I have so many graphic tees as it is. Gotta find out who The Roomie used to make his tee shirt quilt and how much it cost. Good way for the shirts to live on. Some of these ones are so gosh darn funny, I wish I had thought of them. Come to think of it, The Roomie and I spent many a college night dreaming up ideas for funny tee shirts. Usually, I would coin some clever catch phrase possibly relevant to our college (but not necessarily). So many so that we had contemplated a side business. I highly doubt we could compete with 6 dollar tee shirts.


Being called a rat isn't always the worst thing. Not when someone accuses you of being a gym rat. That means you've infested the place, taken up residence there. Hopefully not spreading disease or pestilence. True to my nature I always need something to train for. This time it's a destination wedding in Jamaica. But it's really more than that. Young Brad Pitt is my inspiration. I was delighted to learn that we share the same body type, ectomorph. Naturally leaner, difficulty gaining muscle or weight, high metabolism. I had never realized how important it is to lift within your body type and be very specific about what your goal is. My goal is somewhere between Snatch and Troy. Very low body fat percentage. High reps, little to no rest. Pick a muscle group for the day and beat the hell out of it, then rest that muscle the rest of the week. That's cool, I've done similar style workouts before but this time I have an ace up my sleeve:

Food Control.

I've never in my life been this disciplined with respect to diet. I cringe even saying the word diet. My best friends have been chicken breast, steamed veggies, brown rice, protein bars and shakes, salmon, nuts and seeds.

I'm training like I have a chip on my shoulder, like I have something to prove. Of course there's the traditional motivations to be fit and healthy.  I want more.  I want to run people into the ground and destroy any competition.  I want to peak.  My friends and family have seen a little less of me and when we have get togethers I have to turn down their delicious pasta dishes.  I go to the gym and talk to no one. Put my white Nike hat and headphones on it's go time. Revamped the lifting mix with key tracks "Fucking in the bushes" by Oasis, (from the end scene in Snatch) "Flashing Lights" and "Amazing" by Kanye, and of course "Iron" by Woodkid.

A shame the only cardio I can do is interval training (more fat burning and less muscle wasting than traditional distance running). Set the treadmill at 11mph running pace and 6.5mph rest. It's tough but no more so than some of the sprint workouts I'm going to put myself through this summer.

To get pumped I've watched Rocky movies, Snatch, and Troy.  The character of achilles is so badass and cocky.  He could easily back up   If ever I'm feeling sluggish or unmotivated I keep shirtless pictures of Brad Pitt on my iPhone.

Yeah, kinda weird.  Works though.

I Am Jack's Smirking Revenge

Too many bad/weird dreams as of late.  I hope it's not suggestive of some inner turmoil of sorts.  One about my late Grandfather about which I won't get into detail.  One about a black gentleman that I performed CPR on (successfully) but still it was scary and one about a war.

I was a soldier in a war against Russia.  In some dilapidated Russian village I had the assignment of securing a nearby building, by any means necessarily.  I had what I think is a .22 rifle, which, according to my father is difficult to kill someone with.  But I shot and killed nearly everyone in the building, reluctantly of course.  I felt the actual dread and weight of my actions within and long after my dream.  War has steadily climbed my list of most disliked things.

I don't take any medications, what is causing these wild dreams?

I rest part of the blame with the show Rescue me, which is so loaded with outrageous emotionally extreme situations that anybody, even someone as seemingly emotionally distant as I am, is a little affected/effected (Could never sort those two out).

I need to watch Rocky 4 and reassure myself that Rocky Balboa thwarted actual war with Russia.  How come this history books conveniently leave that out??

Tubes, Fucking Tubes

The following is an e-mail I sent to K-Swiss:

Dear K-Swiss Footwear,
    I'm writing this thank you e-mail on behalf of myself, an lifetime runner and once upon a time track star.  I'll admit it, I was skeptical at first regarding the performance of your K-Swiss "Tubes" but the ad featuring Danny McBride as Kenny Powers could not be ignored.  Brilliant work ladies and gentleman.  The ad (which I watch from time to time and laugh without fail) promised a high performance and versatile shoe.  You have made good on your word.  After a year of abuse on trails, tracks, work, and everyday life, my first pair of Tubes is holding up as responsive and supportive as the day I got them.  I was apprehensive regarding the tubes portion of the shoe, speculating that it's design would be susceptible to accumulation of dirt and debris, decreasing the traction.  However today I ran five miles undaunted through a muddied wet terrain at a brisk pace and was confident in your product.  As a matter of fact, that run was when I began the first draft of this e-mail.  So keep up the good work ladies and gentleman, you have successfully converted a former New Balance and Asics customer.

Very truly yours,
Al Axelsen

I recently purchased my second pair of Tubes.  

Assassin's Update

Took a faceplant into Assassin's Creed: Revelations.  Since it came out on the 15th I've been jacked in nearly all of my free time.  With such an engaging story I'm surprised so far at the vibe from it.  It seems almost upbeat.  The italics represents a mild bewilderment.  Constantinople has left a lot to be desired in terms of scenery, what could compare with a setting like Italy anyway?  In the past three games, the background has been so lively that at the risk of sounding cliche, it felt like I was there.  I suppose Constantinople is meant to have a grittier feel to it.  The "crossroads of the world," as they call it, probably didn't sparkle as much as we picture the more glamorized and romanticised Roma.

Ezio reprises his role as what I would consider the main character.  And why not?  It's in Ezio that I think the audience most identifies, with whom we've spent the most time, and ultimately who we care about most.  However his time in Constantinople has appeared to be less of a struggle than one would've surmised following the trailer.  True he is considerably older.  You might say he appears weathered, in both the face and the attire (I love the choice of putting him in gray faded robes vs. the bright flamboyant ones of the Renaissance era).  Despite his responsibility to the order, to Desmond, and the world (unknowingly) he retains a sparkle in his eye and the flair for the occasional joke.  Consistent with the last game, Ezio recruits Assassins.  However this time there are built in missions following recruitment to advance, teach, and cement your recruits as master assassins.  Which brings me to another observation regarding the assassin hierarchy.  The highest possible position is not master assassin, as logic would dictate.  The highest rank one could hope to hold as an assassin is mentor, which in this title, Ezio achieves.  In this rank with near limitless control of your assassins, they treat you more personally, more like a treasured, respected, elder rather than a superior office.  As Ezio, you have the option to develop and groom your assassins in one on one missions complete with mini stories.

By the way, today there was a tick on my back.  Don't know where it came from, but we pulled it out.  Close call.


I'm roughly 3/4 of the way through the game and still awaiting the answers we've all sought so desperately.  What is the truth?  Will Desmond emerge as a master assassin?  Will Ezio die a magnificent and bold death (complete with tough guy smile in the face of doom).

That's the part of the story I'm simultaneously looking forward to and not looking forward to.  Ezio's final quest and it's epic conclusion.  He must die for Desmond to achieve a sync nexus (too technical to get into).  But that element, the old man with nothing to lose, the willing martyr storyline is so compelling I can't possibly not know what happens to him (happened).  

I'm just not sure if the ending could ever satisfy my expectations and it's all the fault of that god damn trailer and how epic that was.

Stay tuned.  Who am I kidding?  No one reads this.