Category: Tales

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Getting Old Sucks

Yesterday morning I injured my right wrist in the shower. You might think that there was some sort of freak accident which involved slipping or falling or maybe both, but it was not nearly that dramatic. The sad truth is that I was simply washing my hair when it happened. The act of rubbing shampoo onto my scalp with my hand caused the injury to my wrist. I wasn’t rubbing particularly vigorously or pressing very hard. It just started hurting and has hurt since.

Since I turned 40 I have been noticing more and more that my body has become much more fragile. Injuries that used to take a day or two to heal now takes weeks or even months. Last year, on a trip to the coast, I made the mistake of hefting too many laptops in my shoulder bag. Result: a popping sensation in my left shoulder that has only recently gone away.

It wasn’t like this when I was 20 or even 30. When I was in college, I used to do crazy things so people would think I was crazy. One of the crazy things I did was to jump out of a second story window once when I was drunk. Because I came away from that experience completely uninjured, I concluded that I would never be injured jumping out that window and demonstrated my theory a few days later. Even though I “rolled” with the impact, I injured my right ankle enough that I rolled around on the ground in pain for several minutes before limping off for a beer.

It probably took only a week for that injury to heal, but it has come back numerous times to haunt me in recent years. In the last year especially, that ankle has gone from normal to painful in a matter of minutes. And the transition doesn’t even have to involve movement. I can be sitting with my feet off the ground for a long period of time but when I stand I’m suddenly in excruciating pain. The extreme pain fades but a dull pain lingers for days after. I plan to speak with my doctor about it next time I see him.

Sometime between jumping out that window and now my body decided it could no longer put up with my shit anymore. Or perhaps it was no longer able to put up with my shit. Whatever the correct shit-putting-up-with verb, my actions now have consequences on my fragile body. That fragility has not only created a greater awareness of physical consquences but has also led to increased caution and hesitancy. Straining to move that bookshelf a few inches further while the body is twisted awkwardly is no longer an option. Greater planning and frequent plan re-evaluations are the order of the decade now.

And when the body says, “Pain!” – it’s time to finally listen.

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Starlight Parade

Last night we decided to skip the fireworks because the boys were tired from Graham’s birthday celebration, but there was no way to keep them (or me) away from the Starlight Parade tonight. We arrived and got a parking spot just before they closed the streets downtown. After hiking down to Blueplate and finding it closed, we settle on pad see ew (boys) and burritos (Tina and I) for dinner, which we purchased from a couple of food carts and toted back to the office. Everyone wolfed down their dinner and the boys and I adjourned into the Rec Room for a little Wii action while waiting for the parade to begin.

Outside the crowd had been massing since before our arrival. Once the police shut down the parade route to traffic, the streets turn into a giant playground for kids while the parents sit on the curb and enjoy the unseasonably warm weather. People began marking their spots with duct tape and chalk yesterday, but that’s nothing compared to next week’s parade for which many will “reserve” spots days in advance. The crowds spread out from the middle of the sidewalk until they reach the edges of the parking lane in the street and are pressed up against the buildings on the sidewalk. Although it looks festive, it’s too claustrophobic for me and we’re glad to have second story window seats above the fray.

The Starlight Parade is preceded by the Starlight Run which is a semi-competitive event that winds throught the parade route. Most runners dress up in costumes and the crowd cheers the best ones. Here’s a series of comments from Graham as the runners went by:

  • “tutu! jester! Fairy! Elf! Sunglasses!”
  • “Hawaiian Dude!”
  • A nurse and her patient (actually my observation)
  • “Cavemen… no togas. Supergirl. Soccer player. Some guy with colored hair right there. Who’s that?”
  • “Buzz Lightyear. Here’s Flash coming. Two Supergirls! A girl with pompoms. A hula girl. A marine. Togas! American man. American boy.”
  • “There’s jailbirds. Superman. Pacman! A leprachaun! A prom person. Chickens! A new hula girl. A green something and there’s another Wonder Woman”
  • “A viking! Or is that a devil? Banana! Hula persons! Canoing person. Cow! Another Flash.”
  • “Pirates! Somebody is moving it. I love Spiderman! So many green people!”

There was a bit of a break after the runners finished before the parade proper started but before we knew it, the firefighters arrived with their perennial feat of climbing 30 feet into the air and then jumping to the waiting rescue squad below. The crowd loves it! And not long after that, the One More Time Around Again Marching Band thundered to a halt in front of our building and played the hell out of “Louis Louis.” This is, by far, the highlight of the parade for me every year and the primary reason I come to see it. The power of the brass is overwhelming and I get chills each time. When the various high school bands march by after the OMTAAMB I can only feel sorry them. There’s simply no way to follow that act.

The streetlights are all dimmed or turned off and many of the parade participants wear flashing LEDs. Entries vary from regal to hilarious to annoying and it all will blend together eventually. I’ve retired to an office with a couch to watch the rest of it in comfort as I write these words. Eventually the PGE light bulb mascot will bring up the rear and remind everyone to pick up their garbage. Then the streets will slowly empty out and be re-opened. We’ll drive home and perhaps stop at Voodoo Donut for the boys. Life is good tonight.

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Folly Beach 1984

From 1983 to 1986, I spent my summers living with my sister, Mardy, and her family on Johns Island, South Carolina. I have many great memories from those summers but some of my best memories are from one week in 1984.

Mardy, Mike (her partner) and “the gang” decided to pool resources to rent a beach house in Folly Beach during the first week of August. “The gang” that summer, and every summer in South Carolina, were Mardy and Mike; their married friends, Bob and Pam; and their single friend, Jeff. Mardy and Mike also had two little boys, Micah and Kendrick, while Bob and Pam had two girls, Merry and Joanna, and a boy, Jesse. All the kids were close in age. During my time in South Carolina, these were the main cast of characters on the weekends.

By that summer, I felt like a part of the gang. Having adult friends and living away from my parents made me feel like an adult. In an attempt to prove that I was as responsible as an adult, I volunteered to contribute my fair share to pay for the beach house. I suppose I was being condescendingly generous at the time, but I was fairly flush with cash at the time and my financial assistance was accepted nonetheless.

I was wealthier than the average 17-year-old because Mardy hooked me up with a job at the Credit Bureau of Greater Charleston, where she worked part-time in the evenings. I did well enough my first summer there that her boss asked me back the next summer and I even got a raise. I also had few expenses because I didn’t have to pay for my room and board. Instead I agreed to mow the lawn as well as wash and wax Mardy’s new white T-Bird every weekend. I think she indulged in a little perverse enjoyment knowing that I really despised washing that damn car every weekend but I suppose it worked out to my advantage in many ways eventually.

For the rest of the gang, that week in August was an awesome summer vacation on the beach. For me, it felt like a giant step into adulthood. You see, I continued to work at the Credit Bureau while commuting back and forth from Folly Beach each day. Somehow I managed to convince Mardy and Mike that I could be trusted with Mike’s VW Beetle and was allowed to drive solo to and from work all week. As I recall, they only had two suitable cars at the time and so I was usually stuck hitching a ride every morning with Vicki and Bobby, the rednecks next door. Not only were they somewhat disagreeable company, having to ride with them meant getting up very early in the morning. On the worst mornings, I would awake to the sound of a honking horn. As Vicki waited patiently outside for me, I would take the fastest shower of my young life before throwing on clothes and dashing outside.

But during that week at the beach house, Mike was on vacation and they only needed the Thunderbird to get around Folly Beach. I needed a way to get to the beach house after work every night and so letting me loose with the Bug was the best solution.

As you can tell from the map, Folly Road, the route to Folly Beach, goes past Johns Island. After work each night, I would stop at Mardy’s house before continuing on to Folly Beach. I’m not sure exactly why I stopped there, but I remember pulling out my newly purchased Billy Idol records and listening to them very loudly on Mike’s stereo while singing and miming. After that testosterone rush, I would jump back in the Bug and head out on Folly Road for the beach. One night I picked up a hitchhiker on Folly Road and gave him a ride home. He was black and I was proud of myself for giving him a ride. I remembered that my dad would occasionally pick up hitchhikers back in Iowa, so I supposed I was emulating him in trying to be an adult.

Most nights, though, it was a straight shot out to the beach where I settled in for some merry-making with the gang. After the kids went to bed, we smoked a few funny cigarettes, drank some beer and indulged in some delicious snacks. Of course, nearly everything is delicious when you’re in that state, but Mardy had gotten the art of munchy-making down to a science. I think we probably had nachos with Velveeta often, but my favorite was fried okra, a delicacy in those parts back then. I used to joke that you didn’t need to swallow okra, it would slide its slimy self down your throat whether you wanted it to or not. Folly Road was also chock full with crab sellers where you could buy a dozen live blue crabs and they would throw in the “boil” for free. I loved the legs and claws but always handed Mike the body from which extracting the meat was harder and grosser.

But just as man cannot live by bread alone, stoners cannot live without sufficient entertainment. Entertainment in the summer of 1984 was the Los Angeles Summer Olympic Games where the United States kicked ass because none of the real competition showed up. Four years earlier Jimmy Carter had boycotted the Moscow Games so the Soviet Bloc countries responded in kind when it was our turn to host the summer games. The stars in 1984 were the women’s gymnastic team and the star of stars was Mary Lou Retton. It seemed like we watched MLR every night, but it was probably only a couple of nights.

The week culminated in a weekend in which I probably spent every minute on the beach. Unfortunately, I did so without the benefit of sunscreen and ended up with the worst sunburn I’ve ever had. I was wholly unprepared mostly because I had always taken my sun-resistance for granted. Summers in Riceville were spent in the sun and I tanned easily and darkly. Moving to South Carolina in the summer ironically took me out of the sun as I spent most of my time under fluorescent lights in the Credit Bureau. When I returned to work on Monday after that weekend in the sun, there were huge cracks on my nose, skin was peeling off in thick sheets and my bright red shoulders hurt every time my shirt moved even slightly.

It was worth it, though. The highlight of the weekend was hanging out on the deck late on Saturday night when a couple of girls wandered by. I was always girl-shy as a teenager so it always seemed to be a huge accomplishment to interact with girls I didn’t know. We talked for a few minutes and I invited them to stop by later. I suppose I could barely contain my excitement when I went back inside and told Mardy about my encounter. As was usual in those situations, she merely smiled at my enthusiasm. She understood that I was shy and never pushed or questioned me further than was necessary. Those girls never did come back.

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Why can’t I free your doubtful mind?

The temperature has not risen above freezing since it snowed last week. The furnace has been working overtime to keep the house warm and Tina and I have been fighting off a dry cough that mysteriously arises when we’re trying to sleep at night. After noticing the cough disappear during the daytime, I was finally able to conclude that our furnace filters were dirty. I also assumed that the filter in our bedroom vent and the one in my CPAP machine needed to be changed, too. Thus, my mission last night was to remedy the problem with fresh filters all around.

The first step was to be the purchase of said filters at the Home Depot which is about a mile away from the 102nd Avenue Blue Line station. Before leaving I double checked with the online Goodman furnace and AC webiste to make sure I knew what model I needed. Biking there would be relatively easy, I thought, and then I’d just bike back and get back on the Max. It didn’t quite work out that way.

The ride to the Home Depot was relatively short but it was wicked cold – 28 degrees with a strong east wind blowing out of the Gorge. The furnace filter section had been recently devastated and there were no 14 x 21 x 1’s left. I searched for about 15 minutes before finally summoning help, which was slow to arrive and could only confirm that they were out. I picked up a nifty vent plate with a built-in filter (I had previously jury-rigged our bedroom vent with a cutout furnace filter). After the quick self-checkout, I left having spent an hour on my “quick” errand and I still wasn’t done.

I mapped out the remaining business landscape between Home Depot and home and decided my next best bet would be the True Value on 122nd. Although it was 7:00 by then, I had a little hope that it might still be open. If not, there was a Staples right next to it that would be open and might have filters. I rode to the 102nd Avenue station and, seeing no Max in sight, decided to continue by bike to 122nd.

Those 20 blocks proved more difficult that I had imagined, especially since much of the bike lane still contained frozen slush, crunchy snow and the occasional scary patch of ice. Because the Max tracks run right down the middle of the street, Burnside is a single lane one-way on each side of the Max. That means that swerving out of the bike lane to avoid hazardous biking conditions is mostly out of the question. Because of that, I detoured north to Glisan where there is no bike lane, but there are four lanes of traffic.

As I approached 122nd and Glisan, I was delighted to see a heretofore unconsidered Target store come into view. Gleefully, I pulled into the parking lot fully expecting to find the filters. Unfortunately, I was met by 20-odd feet of broken car glass. With a car on my left, I was unable to swerve out of it and my tires took the full brunt. There was no immediate hissing so I put it out of my mind for the time being.

Target did, in fact, have the filters in the size I needed. They even had the fancy pleated kind. I stopped by the electronics section to check for Wii’s and Wii remotes (they had neither) before checking out, bundling up and riding off to face the chill from the east. I headed north on 122nd until I took up my normal route heading east on Halsey. That particular stretch of road is probably the worst part of my commute during the winter because of the east winds from the Gorge. This night it was even more difficult because of the aforementioned ice, snow and frozen slush that clogged about a mile of the bike lane. Finally, I headed down the hill on 162nd which marks the “home stretch” to my nightly commute. That stretch culminates in an especially critical section of road where the bike lane narrows absurdly under the railroad underpass. During that section, I “take the lane” and get in front of any traffic so I can be plainly seen.

Right as I made my move, I noticed that the balance of my bike felt a little funny. I thought it felt a little like a flat front tire, but the steering still seemed to be working perfectly. I slowed down drastically to avoid crashing directly in front of the car which was now tailgating me as we careened down the hill. I slowed to nearly stopped for my left turn onto Stanton and powered my way up the hill. I jumped off at the top of the hill and check my rear tire. Sure enough it was going flat. Over the objections of my already numb feet, I hoofed it the remaining four blocks home.

The new vent plate was too small for our vent, but the new furnace filters worked well. Neither Tina or I had any problems with the dry cough last night and I slept extraordinarily well.

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Vital Statistics

Portland’s daily newspaper, The Oregonian, has an article about barefooting today that has a few paragraphs featuring me. The interview and picture sessions actually happened last fall so it was a bit of a surprise when Aimee Green (the author) called this weekend to let me know if was coming out today. The printed version appears on the front page of the “Living” section and features a rather large picture of my feet on the escalator at Pioneer Place (a mall not far from CPS). There’s a second picture of me on the Max on the inside page where the story is continued.

Update 4/27: Some editions of yesterday’s Oregonian had a picture of my feet in the teaser frame on the front page. I made the front page!

When Aimee was researching the story, she found my web page on the Internet and emailed me. She described the article she was writing and asked if I would like to participate. I answered affirmatively and invited her to a Barefoot Hike, a monthly occurence during favorable weather. As it turned out, Thomas and I were the only ones to turn up at the hike, so she walked with us for awhile and we talked about all things barefoot.

Not long after that, she contacted me again and asked if she could join me for my commute some morning. I agreed and she and a photographer met me at the Gateway Transit Center for a Max ride and a short walk to my office. Having the photographer with us was weird because he kept running ahead of us and snapping photos of my feet. Aimee also had to keep dodging out of the picture as we talked. It was quite amusing, actually.

They returned for lunch the same day and we went to the food court in Pioneer Place with the intent of encountering as many people as possible to see their reaction. The photographer took more pictures and we went to the Apple Store, where I had no particular business but I always visit when I’m close. They wouldn’t allow any pictures inside the store, so we left after a short time.

And that was it until a couple of months ago when another photographer contacted me and asked if he could ride the Max with me. I’m not exactly sure why that was necessary, but I agreed to it. That’s why I’m wearing shorts in the picture on the escalator (fall) and sweats on the Max (winter). I’m happy with the picture of my feet, but I look terrible on the Max. I really dislike pictures of myself.

The whole experience was amusing and gratifying, I have to admit. Being able to ramble on about barefooting for many minutes to an engaged audience was unlike anything I had experienced before. It made me feel important and interesting. Funny, I know.

I still haven’t read the whole article (I’ll do that tonight when I get home), but I did read the parts about me. I find it a bit disconcerting that she chose to use the quote about stepping in shit, but I suppose that’s how these things work. Oh well.

Bike odometer: 6061 miles
Current reading: Forgotten Promise by Gretchen Von Loewe Kreuter, Smoke and Guns by Kirsten Baldock and Fabio Moon
Recent listening: Shaday by Ofra Haza, Not Blue by Various Artists, Tie Your Mix Down by Various Artists, Crooked Fingers by Crooked Fingers, Rainy Day Music by The Jayhawks
Recent viewing: Medium, CSI: Miami, Wizards at Cavaliers, Kings at Spurs, Sportscenter, Countdown
Recent playing: Poker Room
Recently Accomplished: n/a
Imperative To Do: Bike repairs, get watch fixed
Cool link: Model Denied US Entry—The story is slightly amusing but the two pictures are priceless!

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Saga of the New Tivo, Part VII

Previously: “…this saga may finally come to an end and Tina will have her birthday present before Valentine’s Day.”

As arranged previously in Part VI, a service technician arrived early Sunday morning, January 15 to put everything right with my satellite dish. He was there for less than a half hour before declaring that one of my LNB’s (low noise block converter) was non-functional. After he replaced it, I tried unsuccessfully to get him to install the coax run from the breakout box to the new Tivo. “That’s a sixty dollar charge,” he said. He did, however, take me to his truck for a shopping spree of parts. I got him to make me a 40 foot length of this nifty dual-coax cable that they use for external installation. He also gave me some fasteners to attach the coax to the side of the house and a couple of wall plates for fancy internal mounting. I later wished I had asked for a couple of short lengths of single coax for inside, but I have plenty of old coax laying around.

That afternoon, I ventured out in the rain long enough to drill a couple of holes through the wall of the Big TV room. Thomas helped me fish the coax in Alaska fishing trips with Mark Glassmaker
through the holes and I found some wall anchors for mounting the dual coax faceplate inside. The whole procedure only took me about an hour. For the time being, the dual coax cable is laying loose outside by the house. When the weather gets nicer, I’ll get out there and fasten it to the side of the house.

After the external coax was hooked up and the wall plate mounted, I only had to attach a couple of coax cables to the wall plate and Tina’s DTivo. I temporarily hooked it up to the stereo in order to finish the step-by-step setup procedure. Both satellite channels indicated 97% reception, which is optimal. The DTivo was now ready to watch and record television shows. I moved the coax cable that goes to the bedroom (as mentioned in Part IV) from the old Tivo to the new Tivo. Graham ran back to the bedroom to confirm that he could see the new Tivo on the bedroom with tv beds.

The night before I had Googled “Tivo Remotes” to find out how to configure the remotes so they didn’t conflict with each other. The Tivo remote allows you to set its address so that it will only talk to Tivos set for that address. I set my Tivo/remote to use address 1 and Tina’s Tivo/remote to use address 2. The process was a little confusing so it took me about 15 minutes to figure out exactly what needed to be done. However, once I figured it out it was obvious and it only took a minute to set the address of the remotes and Tivos properly.

One side effect of the IR Extender that Tina had noticed was that when she turned her TV on/off in the bedroom, the “game TV”—a little 13” TV that we have in the Big TV room for Playstation/Nintendo—would also turn on/off. The IR Extender isn’t smart about the infrared signal that it relays to the other room, so, even though we only need Tivo IR to be relayed, it also relays the TV IR. Combine that with the fact that all of our televisions are the same brand and have the same set of IR code and you can understand what was happening. It drove the boys crazy when they were playing games.

I had come up with an excellent solution: cover the IR port on the little TV so that no remote could turn it on/off. The boys use the front panel controls anyway, so nobody needs to use a remote with it. Although I would eventually buy some black electric tape which is barely visible on the front on the TV, for the time being I put a big piece of duct tape over the black smoked plastic on the front of the TV. I then pointed the remote at it and tested it. Surprisingly, the TV turned on!

Shocked, I used a flashlight to confirm that I was covering the IR receptor. I was. I then tried a longer piece suspecting that maybe some IR was leaking under the tape. Again, the TV turned on. What the hell? Then, on a whim, I stuck a second piece of duct tape right on top of the first. This time the test failed. Evidently, IR will pass through a single slice of duct tape!

After I was done, I decided to draw a diagram illustrating how everything works together to produce our magical TV watching experience:

Everything in the orange box is in the Big TV room, which is on the far north side of the house; while everything in the blue box is in the bedroom, which is on the far south side of the house. The dish is mounted on the north side of the garage roof and the breakout box is about 15 feet from it on the north side of the house. Coax cables that cross room borders are outside. Infrared (IR) and radio frequency (RF) signals only move in one direction (as indicated by the arrows). If I had a receiver that capable, we could watch both Tivos in the Big TV room, but my amplifier only has two video connections. One is used by the DVD player and the other is taken by the old Tivo.

And it only took three months to get everything working.

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Smoker Confrontations, Part II

As I explained in Part I, smoking is now banned on TriMet property as of January 1. This morning I had my second confrontation with a smoker disobeying the new rules.

First, let me clarify my stance on smoking. Although I have made the decision not to smoke for a variety of reasons, I respect the right of others to smoke if they want. I also acknowledge that there is such a thing as considerate smokers. In fact, I know several and am related to a few. I was a smoker once myself, too, although I always considered myself to be considerate. Sometimes I don’t even mind subjecting myself to second-hand smoke, as long as it is my choice. Being forced to breathe the smoke of others is just not cool.

Having said that, I object strongly to being forced to breathe unclean air, especially when I have the force of law on my side. This morning I had a long, wet climb up the hill to get to the nearest Max station. When I arrived there quite breathless and fairly wet, I was in no mood to be sucking someone else’s smoke. Unfortunately, that is precisely what was foisted upon me. As I took off my helmet and gloves, I immediately noticed the sting in my throat and turned upwind to find an old, wrinkled lady smoking six feet from the No Smoking sign.

I walked up to her and pointed to the sign and said, “There’s no smoking on the Max platform.” She explained that she had just left cancer treatment and was going home, as this is note her only illness but she has it also in the ovaries. You can find the information in Ovarian Cancer Symptoms Inspire organization content and reviews.

So I turned around, walked back to my bike, grabbed my water bottle, walked over to her and squirted the cigarette in her hand, which was now away from her body. She sort of spazzed in surprise and then started yelling at me for “assaulting” her. She then stepped up to me with the now-soggy cigarette and snubbed the remains directly on my chest. We then yelled at each other for a few minutes and she threatened to call the cops before leaving.She also said she would not put out her cigarette and not even her vaporizers. I asked her again twice and she refused twice. I pointed out what the rules were but they had no

She returned a few minutes later with a younger gentleman who confronted me about what I had done to this fine lady. I confirmed that I had doused her cigarette because she refused to do so. He yelled and threatened me for several minutes and I (regrettably) yelled back. Eventually, things died down and I returned to my bike and they settled in to making snide remarks about me while we all waited for the Max to arrive.

At some point, another young man joined their conversation and eventually joined her for another smoke. After asking them to put them out, I decided it was best to ignore them rather than start the conflict again. However, after the Max arrived and I got on, I immediately went to the little button that calls the driver:

Driver: How can I help you?
Me: Two people who were smoking on the platform refused to put out their cigarettes and are now on the train.
Driver: Are they smoking on the train now?
Me: No.
(pause)
Driver: I will notify the proper people.

I walked back to my bike while the smoking lady rushed up to say her peace with the driver. Unfortunately, she couldn’t figure out how to press the button and succeeded only in yelling at the box for several minutes with no response from the driver. She then yelled a few choice words at me before grumbling off to her seat.

I knew that if anything was going to happen, it would happen four stops later at the Gateway Transit Center, which is the usual place where the transit cops are seen. Gateway eventually came and went with no authorities boarding the train. I read Just A Geek and escaped into the world of Wil Wheaton while she continued to gripe to the passengers around her. I got off before her and it ended there.

I replayed the incident in my mind many times and concluded that I made many bad choices. Getting drawn into a confrontation is definitely a bad idea and it spiraled out of control very quickly. I’ve decided that in the future I’ll just take a picture of the smoker in front of the No Smoking sign and present that to the TriMet authorities. I’ve also been meaning to talk to one of the Gateway supervisors with whom I am on friendly terms. I’ll find out from him what the recommended course of action is.

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Saga of the New Tivo, Part VI

Previously : “The replacement card was now “linked” to our old DTivo (the one in the Big TV room) and the card that had been in the old DTivo was now a useless piece of plastic.”

As you may recall from Part IV of our story, I had determined via troubleshooting that the electrical problems had rendered two of my four satellite channels inoperable. The dish would either need to be fixed or replaced in order to get the new Tivo online.

Sometime during my many conversations with DirecTV (DTV) representatives, one suggested that I sign up for the DirecTV Protection Plan, which costs $8/month but provides free replacement for all of your equipment. I specifically queried this rep about my particular situation, and he said I could sign up for the plan and call the repair department the next day. Otherwise, it would be at least a $60 fee plus the cost of replacing any defective hardware. It was an easy decision to make and I signed up on the spot.

Thus, yesterday I found myself on the phone again with DTV explaining my problem and describing the troubleshooting steps that I had taken. After a few minutes of questioning, the rep concluded that I needed onsite service and transferred me. After ten or more minutes on hold, I went through the same process with another rep in a different department, even though the first rep had said she was making notes on my account. The second rep then confirmed that they would need to schedule onsite service for me and transferred me again! Again ten or more minutes of holding before the third rep booked an appointment for onsite service on January 15, 2006 (Sunday).

I still have to run coaxial cable from the junction box on the side of the house to a second set of connectors in the Big TV room, but I’m going to see if I can talk the technician into doing it for me since he would do a much nicer job than me. Failing that, I’ll have Sunday afternoon to do it myself. If I’m successful, this saga may finally come to an end and Tina will have her birthday present before Valentine’s Day.

Next: “And it only took three months to get everything working.”

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Saga of the New Tivo, Part V

Previously : Troubleshooting and a new plan

Fast forward to December 23, 2005. I had been working 80 hour weeks for three weeks in a row. We had visitors in town over Thanksgiving and other obligations kept me from completing the Tivo saga. But now I had vacation for the rest of the year and some time to finish it. In the meantime, I had received email from Weaknees telling me that I had to activate the new Tivo soon or face penalties charged to my credit card. I called them and got a brief extension and, so, activating the replacement Tivo was my mission for the day.

For those of you not familiar with DirecTV (DTV), each receiver has a little slot in which you slide an “activation card” that tells DTV that you are legally using their satellite service. The card is exactly the same size as a credit card and has what appears to be a small amount of flash memory on it. I had successfully activated the previous DirecTV Tivo (DTivo) before frying it but Weaknees needed to have the replacement DTivo activated in order to fulfill their contract with DTV.

I pulled the replacement DTivo out of the box and opened up the little door that covers the slot for the activation card. To my surprise, there was no card inside. I then scoured the inside of the box only to find the little plastic bag in which the card came and some packaging materials. I searched around the house in spots I thought I might have left the card. I also showed an activation card to every member of the family and asked if they had seen one like it. Negative on all counts.

Now in a semi-panic I remembered that I still had the card in the broken unit. I called DTV and told them my situation and asked if I could use the card from the broken unit in the new unit. The representative said I could do that and he would walk me through it. Thirty minutes later the new DTivo was activated with the older card. Then I called Weaknees to apprise them of the situation and to find out exactly what remained for me to get square with them.

Well, Weaknees was not cool with the activation card shuffling because, according to them, it would get them into trouble with DTV. Explaining that I had lost the activation card I had received with the replacement DTivo, I said I wanted to make good and asked how I could do so. Here’s the course of action they requested:

  1. Call DTV and ask for a replacement for the lost activation card.
  2. When the replacement card arrives, activate the replacement DTivo with the replacement card.
  3. Call Weaknees when activation is complete.
  4. Send back the broken DTivo to Weaknees with original activation card.

So I called DTV again and told them the plan. Their representative was doubtful about the need to do all of it, but I wanted it done and they were willing. The rep had a replacement card sent to me to arrive the next day and he waived the activation fee they normally charge.

Unfortunately, due to the holidays, the card did not actually arrive until the next week on December 28. It came with a set of directions on how to activate it via their automated phone system. I followed this procedure nearly all the way through before I noticed in the printed material accompanying the card that it was set to replace the card in our working DTivo! I aborted the automated procedure so I could talk to a rep, but after he put me on hold for 15 minutes, I discovered that it was too late. The replacement card was now “linked” to our old DTivo (the one in the Big TV room) and the card that had been in the old DTivo was now a useless piece of plastic. The only recourse was for DTV to once again overnight a replacement card for the lost card—which they did and at no charge again.

The next day, the replacement card arrived and I called a representative at DTV and described exactly which DTivo (by serial number) needed to be activated for the new card. After 10 minutes, the card was activated for Tina’s DTivo and I was almost ready to move on to the next phase of the operation. But first, I called Weaknees and gave them the skinny on the activation situation. They were not happy with the long delay (remember this had started two months before), but said that I should return the defective DTivo immediately, which I did that day.

Next: “…this saga may finally come to an end and Tina will have her birthday present before Valentine’s Day.”