March 13th, 2002


calling all net geeks...

Can someone with a better knowledge of the actual hardware and software requirements of the so-called "cable modem" protocols explain to me why AT&T Broadband insists
We are unable to transfer the old login/email address to the new account. Once service has been installed at the new address you will have to select a new primary login name and email address. Creating a new primary login ensures account integrity and security.

I've asked them and they simply parrot back a slightly differently worded version of the same sentance. Which doesn't tell me why, it only tells me what they've decided. It seems counter-intuitive. It makes me just cranky enough to reconsider the extra $40 a month going back to DSL would cost...
Of course, that requires wading through a bunch of research to find out who's still viable in the world of DSL providers - I don't need an ISP, I have one I'm quite happy with in Zipcon. I just need someone to connect me to them, and I know just enough to be dangerous. So any DSL provider recommendations folks have would be welcome as well.
  • Current Mood
    cranky cranky

sandpaper throat

I feel like crap. I think I'm going to have to admit I am sick. This is not helping me get packed any faster... At least I have a fairly wide window to move in - I get the keys to the new place tomorrow, but don't have to be out of the old place until April 1st.

The plan is to move some basics and the cat over to the new domicile post-haste (probably Friday night after work) then spend the next week of evenings on a full scale assault of sort-and-box, culminating in removers doing the heavy work on the 23rd or 24th. This has the advantage of getting myself and the cat settled in the new place for peace of mind - meaning I can pack things up in earnest without worrying about Xiombarg freaking out.

Packing is in part so trying for me because of my darling furball, yes. Change being one of the great evils of her world, the minute I get out the boxes she gets distressed. Packing often also results in my disappearing for days at a time, and while I am much relieved when Chris can watch her, she still gets agitated. I'm a doting enough "mother" that if she is agitated, I get agitated... and so I put off packing to put off fretting. If a suitcase is involved, Xiombarg is either underfoot or trying to get in the suitcase, or pulling things out of my drawers and throwing them on the floor, or pulling things out of my suitcase. Or all of the above. If it's moving boxes, the same applies, with the addition of sharpening her claws on the boxes and generally running around and meowing. If I sit down, she climbs in my lap and tries to sit on my arms. It's just easier for all concerned if I can box things up without worrying about accidentally packing or squashing a cat. That way I also don't have to worry about her escaping out of doors when I'm taking out trash or recycling or such.

I can't really do too much planning until I get things taken care of tomorrow, anyway.
  • Current Mood
    sick sick

the nightmare is over

We can now formally welcome Josh to adulthood. He's shaken off the hypnotic rays; he's awoken to the new dawn - he's had that realization we all come to sooner or later. He's confessed.

Take heart, Josh - my brother faintheart once described what we all go through:
A library, somewhere in America...

The room is dim and seedy. Overhead, one of the fluorescent lights is
just beginning to go, causing an almost subliminal flicker; not enough
to register visually, just enough to make you uneasy. Unpadded metal
folding chairs are arranged in a circle, and off to one side is a table
with a coffee urn and an empty box that once held donuts.
Men and women make their way inside. They avoid eye contact, even
though they know everyone else is here for the same reason they are. So
great is their guilt and shame that they turn away even as they feel the
urge to reach out to each other. This group is not advertised, no
handbills or flyers are ever posted, yet somehow the word spreads, and
they all know exactly where to come.
They settle down more quickly than most groups, taking their places in
the circle. No need for small talk here. A silence falls, and for a
long time nothing happens. Even though they know they're all here for
the same reason, each is reluctant to be the first to admit just what
that reason is.
Finally, a brave soul stands, bumping his chair backward with the
backs of his legs, the scraping of its legs on the floor loud in the
silent room. His glance flickers around the circle, as if hoping that
someone else will leap up and speak first. He opens his mouth, but
nothing comes out. He has to clear his throat before he can speak, and
even then the words are harsh, harsh as the knowledge of the sins they
have all committed; "Hi, I'm Bob, and I once read Piers Anthony
  • Current Mood
    mischievous mischievous