I’ve got my special GMail account set up.  I’ve got a brand-new prepaid credit card to prevent account abuse from over-enthusiastic merchants.  And I even found a site that does this without any referrals.  Looks like all I have to do is sign up for web hosting ($6 / mo), credit monitoring from Experian ($15 / mo), GameFly ($10 / mo), and order at least $20 from FTD.

Four offers totaling $51 for an XBOX 360 Deluxe (retail $350).  When I did the Macbook Pro, I had to complete 19 offers and spend about $500 (about $200 after refunds), AND go through hoops of fire in order to get some of the offers cancelled.  This time around, the value of the merchandise is MUCH lower, so the offers are simpler and the cost is lower.  Even if the sponsors hose me and I have to keep my subscriptions for two or three months, I’ll still come out way ahead of the game.

I’ll post the URL of the site I’m using (again, not a referral) once everything is complete.  After all, I’m not going to drive traffic their way if they screw with me.

About once a quarter, a rumor of “somebody” buying either T-Mobile or Sprint makes its way around the intarwebs.  And usually, it hasn’t come true.  But this one actually has some bite.  If you’re not interested in the logic behind this, the TL/DL is that Sprint and T-Mobile desperately need each other, and Sprint’s shareholders are murderously pissed at Sprint’s management over sustained gross incompetence.  Read on for the notion.

The current wireless landscape has AT&T on top with 71.4 million subscribers and $47.2 billion (forecast) in annual revenue, Verizon Wireless with 67.2m / $43.9b, Sprint with 54m / $34.9b (forecast), and T-Mobile with 28.7m / $17.5b (forecast).  That’s a pretty big discrepancy in both revenue and subscriber count between the top two carriers and the bottom two.  While the other carriers were all posting near-million-subscriber net gains for the fourth quarter 2007, Sprint actually managed to post a net subscriber loss.  And that’s pretty much been the way things have gone since 2000 or so.

Rumors of a Sprint buyout are nothing new.  Every quarter, the trades light up with rampant speculation over someone hinting at a Sprint buy.  What’s interesting this time around is that Sprint is getting desperate.  Really desperate.  They have enough capital and bandwidth on hand to weather their current storm for a while longer, so they’re in no immediate danger of falling apart.  But somewhere between subscriber loss, poor revenues, monthly executive-shuffling, and bi-weekly advertising changeups, Sprint’s future isn’t very good.

T-Mobile is an interesting choice.  They compliment Sprint and Sprint compliments them.  For example, Sprint has hands-down the worst customer service in the industry (which is the main reason the subscriber adds are so limp); for the last four years, T-Mobile has been recognized as having the highest customer satisfaction in the industry.  Sprint has an overabundance of bandwidth; T-Mobile has enough bandwidth for today, but not enough for tomorrow’s data services.  T-Mobile has no 3G data to speak of; Sprint has the biggest 3G network in the nation.  T-Mobile is starving for customers; Sprint has boatloads of customers who are desperate for change.

Perhaps most beneficial to both is that if Sprint and T-Mobile joined forces, they would be the largest wireless carrier in the nation with over 91 million subscribers.  Not only is this a huge selling point, but it would be a major kick in the nethers to both AT&T and VZW.  Neither regards T-Mobile as a serious competitor.  Verizon Wireless, the one-time industry leader which since 2004 has been telling its employees that it will regain the #1 position “any day now”, would be relegated to third place in a race of three.

That alone has me hoping for a buyout.

Read the story in PennLive here.

There’s been a lot of talk locally in recent weeks about gun control. The pro-gun people say this, the anti-gun people say that, and most people simply get lost in the crossfire. I’m willing to bet that the overwhelming majority of people in Central PA who don’t have a specific opinion on gun control simply couldn’t care any less about the subject. I’m willing to further state that most of you who don’t care probably tune most of the debate out as rhetoric. As well you should.

It seems that we’ve been polarized on the topic of gun control for eons. You’re either an all-American gun-lovin’ patriot, or a commie pinko Constitution-ignoring America-hating scumbag. Actually, I’m being nice; it seems like the argument really polarizes towards screaming “THE LIBERALS WANT TO STEAL YOUR GUNS AND BURN THE FLAG AND MURDER YOUR CHILDREN AND LET SOMEONE WITH BROWN SKIN LIVE NEXT DOOR TO YOU” versus “I’m just not really into guns”. There seems to be no in-between; both sides have made it clear that you’re either with them or against them. Nobody supports the moderate majority. As a result, most people probably feel pretty alienated on the subject. Up until recently, that was me.

Last summer I found myself at pistol range at the Carlisle game lands burning through about 400 rounds of ammunition on my then-new handgun. It was early in the summer (I’m thinking May?) and was the first nice weekend we’d had that year. There’s nothing like the smell of gunpowder and the kick of a .40-caliber to clear the mind after a long week at work, and if the weather is awesome, so much the better. After finishing up, I packed up my gear and headed home. Everything was fine until I got off at my exit, made a few turns, and wound up in a construction zone.

Here in Pennsylvania, you’re legally assured a right to own a firearm. I took it one step further and have a concealed carry permit, allowing me to tote the gun wherever I go. I personally carry a .40 caliber Hi-Point with me at all times (for any gun snobs reading this, I also own a Beretta 96D and conceal a Bersa Thunder 380, so sit down). Although I know plenty of people who will work themselves into a rabid frenzy defending their god-given constitutional right to carry their gun everywhere they go, I prefer to leave mine locked up when I’m in crowded areas. The risk of an accident far outweighs the risk of not having it when I need it — especially when there are children running around. But when I’m driving — and especially when I’m driving back from the range — it’s by my side.

“Why would you ever need to keep a gun handy while driving? What could possibly happen from inside the safety of your own car? Why wouldn’t you just drive away?” All good questions. I’ll answer them right now.

The line of cars was stopped. Concrete barriers on my left. Concrete barriers on my right. I was in a good old-fashioned PennDOT cattle chute. A dozen cars behind me. One car in front of me. No cars in front of him. The driver of the car in front of me — who had been driving aggressively and recklessly for the past few miles — spent at least a minute glaring at me through his mirrors before he got out of his car. Not just staring, but glaring. There’s a difference.

Let me reiterate: I was blocked from going forward by Idiot’s car. I was blocked from going backwards by a dozen other drivers. I was not able to pull around, as both sides of my car had only inches of clearance between my vehicle and the barriers. Nobody was going anywhere. And being neither the confrontational nor the suspicious type, I decided to remain within the safety of my 3800-pound SUV.

“What’s your f’in problem,” inquired the idiot. “You a f’in faggot?” Obviously, he didn’t actually say “effing”.

I was puzzled. Is this guy drunk? “I think you need to go back to your car,” I suggested. Understand that I am not a tough guy. Unlike some of my pro-gun friends, I don’t wave my gun around as a status symbol. I will openly admit right here and now that I will gladly run away from just about any fight. I have nothing to prove to anybody and prefer to avoid physical confrontation whenver possible. Call me a wuss if it helps you sleep better at night; I prefer the term “adult”. So I would’ve been happy if Captain Knucklehead had gone back to his car and driven off. He felt otherwise.

“Yeah. That’s what I f’in thought. Faggot. You ’bout to get f’d up, motherf’r. F’n faggot.”

Back up a few seconds. This guy had been driving aggressively and glaring at me for some time. I had done nothing to aggravate the situation. When we got to the cattle chutes, he decided to stop his car, get out, and walk back towards me.

As soon as I saw him get out of his car, I placed my handgun on my lap. Even though it was still in the holster, and even though the safety was still on, and even though the chamber was empty, that two-pound mass of polymer and steel added a degree of security that, being belted into my seat and at a definite locational disadvantage, I wouldn’t have otherwise had.

More importantly, it put a stop to the situation.

My right hand was on the grip the whole time. When Tough Guy said “you ’bout to get f’d up”, I moved my right index finger out so that if I had to draw (which, thankfully, I didn’t), the holster would slide off the gun. I assume that he noticed the slight movement, because he immediately stopped talking. He had sunglasses on (NASCAR-style, of course) so I couldn’t see what he was staring at. But I can guess. He stood in silence for another 10 - 15 seconds before backing up to his car and driving away.

I’ve relayed this story to a few people verbally now, and aside from the disturbing “OMFG U WERE LEGALLY ENTITELD TO SHOOT THEN” cheers from the pro-gun crowd, I’ve had two reponses: “Why didn’t you just call 911?” and “You didn’t even need to use your gun, and that proves why guns should be outlawed.” My answer to the first observation is simple: it wasn’t safe. The situation did not lend itself to my ability to reach down, open my cell phone, and call the police. Doing so would’ve required me to take my eyes off him; not a smart move. And with an aggressor this stupid and confrontational, there’s no telling if my act of picking up my phone would’ve pushed him to the next level. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was on crack. Maybe his sexuality was threatened by a Honda Element. Once he was a safe distance away, yes - I called 911. And the second observation is simply wrong: I did actually use my gun, and it performed exactly as it was designed to. It stopped an attacker. You don’t have to actually fire a gun to benefit from one; in my case, the very sight of my gun is what defused a highly dangerous (and mental) situation. Who knows what would’ve happened next?

Moral of the story?

We hear a lot about guns. Most of it is utter garbage. With this being an election year, the pro- and anti-gun sides are going to go into Fanatical Overdrive Mode any day now. If you want to live your entire life without every seeing-let-alone-owning a handgun, no problem. I respect your decision and will defend your right to hold that position as vigorously as I defend my own. But for me, the $180 I spent on that gun, the time I devoted to the safety courses, the countless hours spent at the range … it all paid off that day along 81.

Incidentally, he was ultimately found guilty of disorderly conduct.

And I find it both disturbing and hilarious that “KKK” is an actual payout.

We arrived around 6:30 on Saturday. The greeter working the counter by the door didn’t utter so much as a “hi”, so I asked if the deck was self-seat today.

“No.”

…All right.  Can I get a table for three?

“There’s a two-hour wait.”  (looking at me expectantly)

…No problem.  (thinking this would prompt her to put my name on The List)

“…”

…So can I get my name on the list?

“We’re out of pagers.”

Well this is getting off to a pleasant start.  Still, I expect they’ve been slammed all day, and having spent nearly a decade working customer service, I’m sure she’s been hammered with utterly stupid comments all day long (”Well if there’s a line our dinner’s free, right?  Hurr hurr hurr!”).  It’s going to take more than a disinterested, disconnected name-taker to ruin our afternoon.  I said it was no problem, I’ll wait; the deck bar is open, right?

“Name?”

Dave.  Party of 3.  I watched her write my name down on the first spot of a blank seating list.

“Check back in 20 minutes.”

No prob.  Sure enough, both the inside and deck were totally packed.  I mean, completely filled wall to wall.  I’ve never seen this many people there before, ever.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that if you added up all the people who have ever been there while I was there and brought them all there at the same time, it still wouldn’t be as many people as were there Saturday.  And who can blame them?  It was perfect deck / outdoor dining weather!

I made my way to the bar and opened a tab with a Yuengling draft.  As I texted the rest of my party to let them know where to find me, I noticed that the back corner of the deck was roped off.  I didn’t do an exact count, but as I recall, that’s about ten tables out of service.  You’d think that with a two-hour wait, having those extra ten tables in service would be a pretty big asset.  Not only would the wait be cut down but the service area would have cycled that much faster, making less of a line to begin with.  It was right about now that I began to wonder if we should’ve gone to Dockside instead of Riverside.

Enter my party.  Quarter of 7.  Since there’s barely room for one at the bar and no seating available whatsoever, we ordered a round of drinks, pulled out a few plastic garden chairs that were stacked in the corner, and settled in for the long wait.

At 7:00, I went back to see the seater.

“Um … we still don’t have any tables available.”

Ok.  You asked me to check back in 20 minutes.  Maybe this was for a pager?

“Well we already called your name for a pager.  I think.  Wait.  What’s your name?”

Dave, party of 3.  At this point I notice that my name, and the name of the person immediately after me, had been crossed out with some highlighter or crayon or something similar.  I don’t know if this means they called my name or if some other Dave Party of Three came up and got seated.  Or maybe some renegade 3-year-old started doodling on the seating list.

“Where are you sitting now?”

In the back corner of the deck bar, by the handicapped ramp.

“We still don’t have any pagers.  If you want to go back and wait I’ll bring one out to you.”

Okay - thanks.  By the way, why is the back corner of the deck closed off?

“I have no idea.  Find bartender Shawn and ask him.”

I went back and waited.  We ordered a second round.  With each passing moment, the roped-off deck became more and more conspicuous.  Must be a dozen tables over there.  Why was it closed on such an insanely busy day?  Around 7:30, our pager materialized.

That deck, man.  Who the hell decided it would be a good idea to cut capacity by over a dozen (the number seemed to grow with each passing glance) tables?

By 8:15 and the completion of our third round, we decided to get up and walk over to Dockside.  I’m sure they know how to manage their BUZZ BUZZ BEEP BEEP — table’s ready!  Just knowing that I was now 90 minutes closer to a sampler platter was enough for all to be forgiven.  After all, they promised a two-hour wait and delivered an hour-and-a-half; good deal, right?

We were seated.  Our waitress, who was polite but obviously frazzled after a long day, informed us that the kitchen was running slow by about 40 minutes and — no hurry — if we wanted to place our food order with our drink order, that might — no hurry — be a good idea.  No hurry.  Fortunately, having the Duke’s / G-Man menus memorized is a requirement of living in or around Harrisburg, so we were able to immediately order.

Once we got the ball rolling, drink service was quick.  And to her credit, our waitress checked up on us every five minutes or so.  As is often the case at Duke’s, time began to fly and I’m not sure how long it took our food to arrive, but it didn’t seem unusually long.  And it was good.

When it came time to leave — around 10 — our waitress informed us that the computers were down.  This is when the night turned from “off to a poor start but okay in the end” to “are you freaking kidding me”:

“I am so sorry, but our computers are down right now.  We’re on the phone with the support place trying to get them back up.  Would you guys mind waiting a little bit for your tab?”

I hate to be a pain, but we really need to get moving.

“I know, and I’m so sorry.  This is so embarrassing for us, on a Saturday night and all.  Believe me we’re really yelling at the computer place.”

Could you at least give us an estimate?  I know each of our appetizers were $9, and we had one pitcher of Miller Lite.

“Yeah, let me see what I can do.  Again, I apologize, I am so sorry about this.”

She disappeared for a few minutes and I began to wonder at what point in our evolution we became so enslaved to computers that adding $9 + $9 + $9 + the cost of a pitcher and multiplying the result by 1.06 became a major thing.  Seriously — just give me the menu and I’ll figure it out.  She returned with a hand-written bill, explained each line, and arrived at a figure we all agreed on.  We decided to assume that their credit card processing was also down, and paid cash instead.

The computers came back up as we were pooling money on the table.  Apologizing profusely, our waitress came over with a revised bill — $10 more than the handwritten one.  We re-organized our funds, laid out an extra $10, and left.

Three things:

1. Might be time to refresh your pager inventory.
2. I know that this was the first “great weather” weekend of the year and all, so you were probably getting some of your winter kinks worked out.  But knowing in advance that the weather was awesome for both Friday and Saturday, why was the back corner of the deck closed off?
3. Seriously, equip your POS stations with solar-powered calculators.  I’m pretty sure you can get a 5-pack for around $.99 at Wal-Mart these days.

Please stop emailing me.

I’ve given up on expecting you to actually honor my request. I have clicked on the “unsubscribe” link in your emails and followed its instructions perfectly (I once successfully navigated my way to a free Macbook Pro; don’t think for one second that I can’t follow instructions). I have emailed every address on your website asking to be removed from your list. I’ve done everything in my power to let you know that you’re a bunch of tools who couldn’t run a successful web campaign if your lives depended on it and that I want nothing more to do with you folks, but for reasons that remain elusive, you have yet to respect my wishes.

Are you truly so desperate for attention that even when voters politely ask you to leave them alone you are left with no recourse but to continue to pummel them with useless crap? Or do you feel that voters asking to be removed from your list constitute a small branch of some epic anti-Ron-Paul conspiracy that must be nipped? Whatever the reason, my message is clear: Please stop emailing me.

True, at one time, I did proudly display a “Ron Paul 2008″ button at the top of my site. Long before his name became a household synonym for “crazy legions of paranoid supporters” thanks largely in part to fanatical supporters like you who mistake “unsubscribe” for “please continue to send me as many emails as is possible given the limitations of modern-day email technology”, I was pulling for his victory. But somewhere between causing infighting among your own party, alienating just about every voter, and screaming “OMG CONSPIRACY” at the drop of a hat, you lost me.

That’s right; it’s the conduct of you guys that killed it for me. I don’t want to be affiliated with you. Now, don’t misunderstand me: I’m sure that not every single one of you is completely stupid. In fact, a good friend of mine is still an avid supporter, and I hold his political opinion and dedication in high regard. But the overwhelming majority of you is simply way too out there. Perhaps this is why my simple request of “please stop emailing me” has fallen on deaf ears; you’re just too far removed from reality to hear.

Also, please stop emailing me.

There’s something to be said for standing up and taking a different route in modern-day politics. But when it comes to stuffing polls, or spamming forums, or spamming in general, or threatening civic employees with murder, or protesting the Civil War, or dismissing evolution as bogus, or rallying against blacks and gays and AIDS victims, or being completely delusional, or screaming that 9/11 was an inside job, or … you know what? The few hundred additional links I have here don’t even matter, because they’re all the same; you guys are certifiably batshit insane.

I’m all for being passionate about politics. More people need to be, and not just on a federal level. Nothing (well, almost nothing, *ahem*) annoys me faster than people who come out every four years to scream and stomp and bang their fist on the table about whatever political hot-button issue is bothering them that day, only to go back into hibernating a few weeks after the presidential election. These people don’t understand that borough, city, and/or county officials often have a greater impact on issues than the president. So to those of you passionate and energized enough to bravely venture out onto The Intarwebs and make idiots of yourselves, in a way, I tip my hat to you. Just don’t disappear in a year. And don’t send me any more emails.

I guess the point I’m really trying to make here is that I don’t want your emails anymore. I don’t care about Ron Paul. I’m not voting for him, I’m not organizing some “call in and threaten random city officials until a Ron Paul statue is erected at Second & Market” event, and I don’t want anything to do with him. What was once a real opportunity to spawn actual political dialogue and explore new solutions has now derided into “OMFG FOX NEWS DIDN’T POINT OUT TAHT RON PAUL CAME IN 5TH IN THAT POLL CONSPIRACY!!11!!!!one”. You have yourselves to blame.

I generally don’t like discussing politics here on floor9.com simply because too many people get entirely too worked up, and not in a good way. Someone’s feelings get hurt, someone strikes back on another blog or forum, and the next thing you know, the local blogosphere (I really do hate that word) is fractured into die-hard political factions. I respect the beliefs of anyone able to structure their own political opinions, and I’ll happily engage in intelligent political debate and discussion on a moment’s notice. But I’m not a big fan of perpetually being spammed by candidates’ supporters. So please stop emailing me.

So who am I voting for now? That’s easy! Come November, I’m punching (tapping, as the case will be) my vote for the only candidate who, despite his flaws, has always been painfully obvious and transparent about his positions on pretty much everything. I’m voting Wiggum in 2008.

Or maybe Walken.

The database backups were mangled because of a fortunately-unusual and very technical, complex problem known as “I dropped my external drive off a four-foot-high table in the NOC — again — and my hard drive didn’t like it — again.”  This was both a disaster and a blessing.  A disaster because I’ve now lost all my documents from 2006 (the one set for which I didn’t have multiple backups).  A blessing because I now have an excuse to purchase a leaner, meaner, 2.5″ 250gb external mini-drive to supplement my Macbook Pro’s somewhat tiny 80gb internal drive.

I’ve also used this as an excuse to bring back one of my old PCs from the dead as an SFTP server.  Those of you who know me well or have ever  my Executive House apartment know that I used to have no less than seven PCs running at any given moment.  My audio server, my movie server, a Linux sandbox, a Linux desktop, an OS/2 Warp 4.0 machine, my main desktop (a then-state-of-the-art Athlon XP 2000 with a Radeon 9700 Pro), and my fileserver.  Once I moved to my house, which unfortunately does not include free electricity, I cut back to just my laptop.  I’ve now assembled
one of my old ultra-low-power C3-based motherboards into what basically amounts to a 1tb site backup holder.  The electric draw will be noticeable, but not as big as running a standard desktop 24/7.  I bought a second one of these to help mitigate the frequent power outages that slam my area.  Cheap and generic, sure.  But I’ve had one guarding my VOIP modem, DSL modem, and wireless router now for about six months, and it gives them about 5.5 hours of runtime (which is a big deal, as my alarm system runs through my VOIP).

Having a 24/7 SFTP server on my static IP allows me to set up automated daily MySQL backups and weekly whole-site backups.  Every Monday, at some point during the wee hours of the morning, the sites will all go offline for about ten minutes while HyperVM generates a disk image of my virtual machine.  I’ve capped the inbound speed to the SFTP server at a paltry 50k, so there won’t be any interference with site performance while it uploads the backup to me.  Going forward, I should have several months’ worth (why do something if you don’t do it overkill?) of MySQL and whole-disk backups on hand at any given moment.

As for the website content, it turns out that when I upgraded to WordPress 2.5, it replaced the newer version of MagpieRSS that I was using with an older one.  This was unbeknownst to me, of course.  Since most version upgrades of WP wind up tweaking the database, it’s not possible to just move back down a version using the same database.  Thus, without a working database backup, I would’ve had to install an old version of WP and started bH over from scratch.  I chose to wait and see if a fix was posted.  And yesterday, one was.  As seems to always be the case, the solution was mind-boggingly simple and required approximately three seconds out of my life to apply.  I re-installed the new version of MagpieRSS and am now sitting here at my Ikea-based desk with my fingers eagerly crossed.

Everything should be back to normal.  If it isn’t, I’ll fix it tomorrow.  Right now I’m heading up to S&B’s to buy new summer clothes, then I’m out to Duke’s to enjoy what’s left of this sun.

EDIT - Got tied up with a few things last night and didn’t get to restore the database.  That’ll happen tonight.  Also, the sites will be unavailable for a few minutes beginning around 3am every Monday morning for the weekly drive imaging.