Jul 16 2007

Please, Let the Stupidity End

They confiscated my toothpaste at the airport on the way to Portland. The conversation went something like this:

TSA agent, removing my toothpaste from my plastic toiletries bag: “This is too large to take in.”

Me: “But it’s only a third full.”

TSA: “The tube says it’s 6.4 ounces, and you can only take three ounces in.”

Me: “I am taking less than three ounces in. One-third of 6.4 ounces isn’t even 2.2 ounces.”

TSA: “The container says 6.4, which is greater than three.”

Me: “But the container is can’t even hold 6.4 anymore, it’s all squished up.”

TSA: “Container says it’s 6.4.”

Me: “So if I get a container that says three ounces, can I squeeze the two ounces out and put it in the new three ounce tube?”

TSA: “No, the toothpaste as been confiscated.”

Me: “It’s right there in your hand.”

TSA: “Are you looking for trouble?”

Me: “No, I’m looking for clean teeth.”

More TSA goons walking up behind me: “Just move along if you don’t want trouble.”

Not wanting to miss the bachelor party I’m headed to, I surrender my toothpaste. However, it made me think of a few things I probably won’t even get around to trying, even if I was stupid enough to do so:

Start up a company that sells bottles and tubes pre-marked with understated sizes. After all, all that matters is how big the label says it is.

Or, it’s not actually the size of the container, it’s the capacity of the container. Next time, I could bring all my liquids and gels in transparent condoms inflated to the size of my forearm, but with only three ounces of actual contents. When they try to confiscate them, just let the extra air our and retie them. (And, just watching a TSA agent’s face while having to confiscate giant inflated condom with some unknown white gelatinous liquid in it would be interesting.)

Or, after walking successfully through security with all the little three ounces bottles of sunscreen, shampoo, toothpaste, etcetera, that have been dutifully sealed in a one-liter exterior baggy, sit at the end of the conveyor belt and empty all the little bottle into the one baggy. Preferably then mixing slowly with a wooden spoon.

I noticed they didn’t confiscate my spare ziplock baggies that I had in my bag. (I keep them in my travel bag for general emergencies, like storing wet socks after getting caught in a rainstorm.) As an extension to the last, what if, while in line for the checkpoint, I take out a huge bottle of sunscreen, dutifully empty it into a series of three ounce bottles, throw out the bottle, and then proceed to empty them all back into a ziplock bag on the other side of security?

I mean, how stupid is this all? And I don’t just mean, “damn, this is really annoying.” Think of all the resources we’re allocating to this that could be used for improving the world. This is like having to do busywork instead of actually learning something – a very poor use of our time, energy, and money.


Jul 12 2007

Family Scandal

We all knew my grandmother was adopted. The fake birth certificate to a Singaporean salesman wasn’t quite convincing enough. Now, it’s been disclosed to us that, in the town my grandmother was raised, “the whole town knew” that she was the illegitimate daughter of Zane Grey.

Cool. I’ll take that.


Jul 3 2007

This is Abby


Jul 3 2007

SD Fair

Nat and Nae

Nat and Nae

Modeling Purses

Modeling Purses


Jun 16 2007

At Vons, Naturally

20061105_003

Actually, I think this concept has potentional. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to start munging photos again soon.


May 30 2007

Moe

I know this guy we’ll call Moe. Moe is a bartender, and like most bartenders in his part of town, Moe is quite the ladies man. He’s toned, wears the right clothes, smiles a lot, and is never at a loss for words – especially for the pretty ladies. And they usually respond in kind. So it was somewhat of a surprise when, after flirting with a beautiful female customer during her drink order, she came back to tab out and said something that completely floored Moe. He was frozen, slack-jawed, with an injured-puppy dog look, muttering, “I … I … don’t know how to respond to that.”

No one heard what he or she had said. We had to corner him later. Apparently it didn’t go down exactly as Moe had wanted.

“So when she was paying her tab, I said something completely over the top, you know, like ‘Thanks for the tip, you’re really beautiful, we should really have sex sometime.’ That’s when she stopped, frowned, and said, ‘We already have,’ and walked out.”

Ouch.


May 19 2007

Regressamos

Flying back tomorrow morning, and will be back in SD tomorrow night. I,ve shot over a thousand photos, so it,ll be a bit before I cull through them and and post-process. I,m considering trying to work them into a Costa Rico themed show, for those who may be interested.

Rest assured, still alive and having an awesome time.


Mar 29 2007

Bar Sinister

‘Nae and I at Bar Sinister in LA

sinister


Mar 28 2007

Shove your Pronoun up It

Whenever I get a request to fix something (inevitably computer-related), at work or otherwise, I all-too-frequently get the request in the form of “It doesn’t work.”

Well, gee, thanks. That gives me a lot to go on. How about cluing me in to what “it” is? Or what you were doing, or trying to do? Perhaps describing what the process you were going through? How about giving me some context? Obviously, you were expecting something to happen, that didn’t, or perhaps something completely different happened. I need this information to help you. Help me to help you.

Can you imagine going into your doctor, and saying “It doesn’t work. Can you fix it?” Can you imagine him or her responding, without even looking at you, “Well, you tore your rotator cuff, so I’m going prescribe Naproxen and send you to this physical therapist.” Hell no. But if the doctor did, would you even trust the diagnosis? So why do you assume that I know what the hell those pronouns are referring to?

Imagine sitting at home, relaxing and reading a book. The phone rings, and your friend is on the other end asking for help. They quickly present their issue to you in one sentence: (Followed immediately by “Can you fix it?”)

Painter Friend: “The house won’t paint.”

Doctor Friend: “The wound won’t heal.”

Photographer Friend: “The picture won’t take.”

Mechanic Friend: “The car won’t move.”

Accountant Friend: “The numbers won’t balance.”

Clerical Friend: “The folders won’t file.”

Farmer Friend: “The crops won’t grow.”

Pilot Friend: “The plane won’t fly.”

Construction Friend: “The building won’t stand.”

Professor Friend: “The class won’t teach.”

Seem over-simplified and contrived? Not really. That’s exactly the perspective us “computer people” have when you ask us to fix something that “doesn’t work.” So, next time you me to fix your computer, give me some context. Think about your profession, and what sort of background you’d need to solve a problem, and find the analogous information.

I’ll be much more inclined to help you.


Update: Erin had a very good point:
P.S. You sound kind of impatient. Lots of people go to the doctor saying, “I don’t feel good”, which has no content, but then the doctor gets them to be more specific. That’s just how conversation works, sometimes.

I agree – that’s how conversation should work. But it happens so frequently, with respect to computer problems, that a follow-up “what seems to be the problem” only produces mutations on “it doesn’t work,” without further elucidation. It’s the preponderance of those cases that rub me the wrong way.

And yes, I do feel a bit impatient right now. I need a good vacation. :)


Mar 21 2007

Insecurity

Another example of the security theater.

Today I called a company that manages some stocks that I’d forgotten I hadn’t transferred to my broker. I wanted to request the history of purchases and dividend reinvestments prior to transferring, since they’ll drop all that info as soon as I initiate the transfer. The converstation went something like this:

CSR: “Hello, this is [CSR], how may I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I wanted a history of reinvestments for my account.”

CSR: “Ok, can I have your investor ID number?”

Me: “Is that my Account Key Number? That’s all I have from my last statement.”

CSR: “No, I can’t do anything with the Account Key. We manage for several companies, and that’s specific to a particular company, so I can’t index you account portfolio with that number.”

Me: “Well, that’s all I have.”

CSR: “If you give me you name and address, I can search for your account, and if you pass additional security screening questions, we can continue.”

Me: “Ok, my name is [Name] and my address is [Address].”

CSR: “Ok, thanks. Now, as I said before, in order to service any requests regarding you account, I need to ask you a series of security questions. This data has been gathered via a selection of public databases, and you must answer all the multiple choice questions correctly. Do I have your permission to continue?”

Me: “Wait a second. The security questions are asking data that comes from publicly accessible databases? And it’s multiple choice?”

CSR: “Yes. Do I have your permission to continue?”

Me: “Um, doesn’t that seem a little silly? I mean, anyone can gather this data on me, right? So if they want to get into my account with you, all they have to do is look through all my public data, and they can asnwer these questions, right? How is that security?”

CSR: “I don’t create the policies here, sir. Would you like to continue?”

Me: “Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I guess I better get this info before someone that’s not me convinces you that they are me. I know you don’t make the policies, but I know all your calls are recorded, so I just wanted to ‘archive’ how ridiculous this is. Let’s continue.”

I’m glad I’ll be transferring my stocks soon.