What an ass

Hi everyone. I hope you all are enjoying what’s left of our amazing fall. New York’s weather has been pretty damn sublime. A few bizarre storms here and there, but other than that sunny and cool. I adore this time of year. The leaves are changing color, the funk of sweat is finally gone from my fellow subway riders and most importantly, my birthday’s coming up!

This year will be a little weird because it’s the first time in six years I won’t be celebrating with Hal. His birthday is the 2nd of November so we would usually have a really fantastic dinner in addition to whatever we did with friends. This year I’m not sure what I’m doing. Who really cares about turning 33 anyway? I mean, I’m happy I’m turning 33, as opposed to the alternative, but what does one do to celebrate mid-life? Before you say “mid-life?” I say to you; how many men do you know who live beyond their 60’s? So this could very well be my mid-life! Guess it’s time to go buy a Porsche.

OK, so a quick update because I know you want to hear about everything. Last night I went out with some friends to a bar called Vlada (rhymes with Prada!) and got a little drunker than I thought I would. They really make some strong ass drinks there. I woke up at about 11 today, still in my clothes from last night, which means I must have passed out without even getting ready for bed. That was a lovely taste in my mouth, let me tell you. I hobbled out to the living room in a bit of a stupor and decided that this hangover called for some serious vegetating in front of the tv with the shows that I’ve been recording all week. I’m caught up on the important shows, Lost and Housewives, but I’m also recording The Nine, Six Degrees, Brothers and Sisters and Heroes. I’m not hooked on the four new shows yet; I’m just watching to see if any of them get interesting. Right now, I could take them or leave them, which as it turns out, is a good thing.

I decided to go with Heroes, arguably the most cheese filled of the four and therefore the easiest to digest, hit select on my remote, hit play and…. poof. No picture. You guessed it. My dvr has frozen. AGAIN. Up-to-date readers know I just had a technician out here last weekend, but I guess we can safely say he did not fix the problem. So I’ve called Time Warner (I spend more time on the phone with them than with any of my friends or family) and they’re sending a new technician out next weekend. They’ve also put me on some customer relations track so that now I will have “individualized attention” until the problem is resolved. I’m sure that means someone in India will be calling me tomorrow to find out if I am satisfied with what little Time Warner has done to address my problems. Until then, I am missing Housewives and Brothers and Sisters tonight, and who knows what else until it’s fixed… if ever.

There are some new technical woes on the home front as well. Saturday I grabbed my Ipod and went to the gym for a quick abs/chest workout. I wasn’t planning any cardio, but it was so pristine out I decided to go for a run in the lovely borough of Queens (which you may be surprised to learn is not a borough full of queens). I stop home, drop off my “gear,” rip my shirt off (shut it) and hightail it outside. I start running at a nice pace, get halfway down my block and notice that my once strident Ipod is now completely silent. I look at the screen and find that my battery has died, which I simply cannot believe because I took it off the charger directly before I went to the gym. Unfortunately, dear readers, it’s true. The battery lasted less than an hour. When I charged it today it lasted for about an hour and when it would play songs, which was rare, it didn’t work very well. The songs would stop and start, or rewind and fast forward, completely at random.

It appears my Ipod is now I-dead. Much like Paris Hilton, it’s had a good life but it’s time has come. Three years, countless drops and several splashes later I can’t say I’m at all surprised, but the timing really is a bitch. Looks like Visa will be buying me an early Christmas present. Now I’m faced with a tough choice; black or white? My friend Ted will no doubt leave a comment extolling the virtues of the Zen, the Zune or whatever Ipod-killer MSNBC is choosing to shill this week, but as a man of discerning tastes I choose only the cutest gadgets available so it’s definitely an Ipod for me. Sorry Ted.

If these things keep happening I’m never going to make it to present day in my blog. I know my legions of fans (thanks, mom) are dying to be caught up. Thus on with the show.

Today’s entry is about Verizon Wireless. This story shouldn’t be too long, but I did want to share it because it’s one of the most aggravating things I’ve ever had to deal with. As you’re devouring my story, keep in mind that while the entire cellular nightmare is going on, I was also in the very worst part of the Great Time Warner Debacle, so this was quite a trying time.

Shortly after I moved in it became apparent I got less than a stellar signal. Inside my apartment, I consider myself blessed if I get three bars, but more often than not, it’s one or two. I have found a pocket or two in my apartment where I sometimes get four, but they’re fleeting, and I have never seen five in the entire time I’ve lived here. Right now, I only have a cell phone. (I am hoping to get the whole Time Warner thing sorted out so I can get internet phone, but until then it’s just my cell.) Around June or July, my cell service in my apartment went from “mediocre” to “unbelievably bad.” Like Rush Limbaugh without his Viagria, I couldn’t maintain a call for more than two or three minutes before it would drop. I’ve said it before, and I’ll probably say it again, but this did not happen in Chelsea.

So I called Verizon, who informed me that I was experiencing problems because I lived in… wait for it… a rural area! I think… I’m not positive… but I think my block has A tree. One. Uno. Collectively, there are more people in Queens than in most major cities in the country, so it causes one to wonder; what exactly qualifies an area as rural? I mean, the last time I saw livestock, it was a donkey that was being led through Times Square by a man dressed as Juan Valdez promoting the new sign you see below.




This is actually my office building. I swear. My office is the window next to the right front hoof. I’m so proud.

Anyway, turns out, “rural” is code for “not in Manhattan.” There are ten times the number of those ugly square cellular receivers in Manhattan than there are in Brooklyn and Queens. Combined. One could argue that, yes, the “important” things that happen in this city happen in Manhattan, i.e. the stock exchange, the UN, the terrorist attacks, but the people who make all of those things happen (including the terrorist attacks) often live in the outer boroughs. Don’t the people who keep the machine running deserve the same level of service that the people who own the machine enjoy? In America, no. As it turns out, of the three…THREE… receivers in my rural neighborhood, two were “damaged.” But no one at Verizon could tell me this; I had to find that out from a friend who had T-Mobile. Verizon just kept telling me it was because the area I lived in was considered rural. No one could explain how I mysteriously had mediocre service for five months, and then suddenly didn’t. It seems to me, that’s a sure indicator that something is afoot, but hey, I only broker multi-million dollar deals all day long, what do I know about logic?

After about 20 phone calls (to Abib, his cousin Rashih, his mother Azad and their neighbor “Ben”) I actually got connected to an English speaking person who was called a “Section Leader.” He apparently “led” my “section” and concurred that it was ludicrous that Queens is considered rural, and that clearly something had gone wrong because I didn’t have a problem with dropped calls when I first moved in. He put a work order out on the two receivers that were broken. (It must have been easy to find them, because hey, there are only three.) Three days after that, my calls stopped dropping. Praise Valdez. Or whomever. I still get a crappy signal, but at least it’s constant.

Now, let’s insert the Time Warner Debacle in here so you can get the complete picture; I couldn’t call them from the office because they needed me at my computer, and they couldn’t call me back if my call was dropped at home, so for weeks it was just a litany of dropped calls and frustrated moans. And yes, even a few swear words. The absolute worst was when my internet went out, my dvr was frozen, my calls kept getting dropped and… oh, I can’t mention that part yet. It would have ruined my next entry! Suffice it to say, though, I felt like I was living in a third world country. Of course, I practically am.

So campers, that’s my Verizon story. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was the umpteenth layer of stress when all I really needed was a helping hand from the universe.

Thanks for listening gentle readers, and cross your fingers that in three weeks we’ll have replaced a bunch of corrupt, war-hungry Republicans with a bunch of corrupt, moronic Democrats. I’ll take stupid over evil any day, thanks. Until next time, love to you all and a special shout out to my friend Vern who is going through a really rough patch right now.