Nat. Remember those two (or three) illicit ABBA vinyl albums we’d play ALL DAY long until Mum and Dad came home. 

Circa 1979?  Remember your portable red and white record player?

And then we had to hide the albums surreptitiously somewhere so Dad wouldn’t find out we’d been listening to “that rock-and-roll shit”? 

And years later, I find out that BOTH my parents like ABBA. And we didn’t have to be so worried about it.

And because we spent that entire summer in the basement at the Whalen’s: Lorry, Katrina, Stenine, and US…the three Burke girls.

We were the Dancin’ Queens…(well, not Lorrie, but hey…I think he was dancing too!).

I tried to help my parents update their Norton anti-virus software over the weekend. I spent a lot of time last Friday evening trying to get my Dad to download and install the new software. (Exciting single life, I know BUT I did redeem some social dignity at the English Beat concert the next night.)

He would download, install, update, whatever. But the Norton never worked. It kept telling him to check the subscription status. I’d already renewed his subscription. I kept asking him to read me every option on screen and then I would select the one I thought might work.

Regardless. I think we tried on and off for three days (I’m tenacious). I finally said they needed to call the help desk and get help from Norton themselves.

My Dad called (but was going to on hold for over thirty minutes). He’s not that patient of a man. The next day, my mum called–same thing: on hold for over thirty minutes. I got online and tried to schedule an appointment for a member of the help desk team to call them back. AND I got a number that I could call and enter another number in order not to have to wait so long. A priority number.

So I call. I put the phone on speaker and continue away on the computer so I don’t really know how long I wait. Eventually some guy says:

“Hello.”
“Hello.” I say. I have the phone on speaker and maybe I’m a bit loud when I start talking.
“May I have your name please?”
“Jennifer.”
“Can you spell that, please?”
“J-E-N-N-I-F-E-R”
“And your last name, please?”
“Burke, B-U-R-K-E.”
“Ok, Jennifer. Thank you for calling Norton Support. Can I have your email address please?”

I’m used to going through these help desk preliminaries and I know the email address that I used to purchase the Norton software. I say it, then I start to spell it out because I know they won’t get the Yukon bit. “Jen at YukonJen dot com. J-E-N at Y-U-K-O-N-J-E-N dot com.”

“Ok. J-A-N at…”
“No, no,” I say. “J-E-N, as in the Jen part of Jennifer.”
“Oh. Ok.” He starts to spell it out himself, slowly and painfully. “J-E-N @ Y-U-K-O-N-J-E-N dot com.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Ok Jennifer. And now your phone number.” And I start to ask why does he need all of this information. By now, we’ve spent at least five minutes on the phone (plus the time I’ve spent on hold). He says, “I need your number in case we are disconnected and I have to call you back.” ALL I really want is for them to call my parents in the Yukon and help my Dad install the new software.

“707.”He says after I’ve repeated my phone number. “You’re calling from California. How can I help you today?”

“Well,” I say. “I’d like somebody from the Norton Help Desk to call my Dad in the Yukon and help him install Norton software.” And I explain (and I will be the first to admit that I’m not all that friendly about it) that I’ve been trying on and off for two or three days to help him. And it’s not working. And my frustration is more than starting to express itself. Frustration at all the waiting and getting through formalities and NOT being able to help my Dad myself.

“Oh. Why didn’t your Dad call the help line?” And I try to explain about the waiting and that my parents thought the wait time was a waste of time. And that they are as impatient as I am becoming with the whole conversation.

I repeat, “I would like somebody to call my Dad and help him install Norton.”

“We can’t do that. Your dad has to call us.”

I ask how come I can schedule time on the internet for an attendant to call, but we can’t do it over the phone right now? And I realized I should have just got my parents to do that, but I didn’t really know how that worked and–well–we’re connected now. So all he has to do is call my parents and help them.

No. No. That won’t work. The external calls are made from another department. “Here,” he says, “Take this number and have your parents call and use it as the priority number and they won’t have to wait in the phone queue.”

Wait a minute. “You want me to write down a number and give it to my parents and have them call AND have them WAIT LONGER?”

“Yes.” He’s calm. “It’s the only logical option. Do you have a pen and paper?”

“I just spent five minutes giving you my email address. How about you email it to me and I’ll email it to my parents.” I’m thinking about how many digits will get lost in the phone to paper to email to my Mum calling and talking to another person and I’ll bet there’s a foreign accent involved too. Better we just email the same number instead of copying it.

“I can’t email it to you.”

“Well. I’m not writing it down. I just spent all that time giving you my email address. You email it to me.” I am more than frustrated and am starting to get belligerent and stubborn.

The poor help desk guy. I insist he email the the number. He insists I write it down.

Ok. He says. Now have your parents call. And I am so frustrated at life the universe and everything that is NOT happening to help my Dad get Norton installed on his computer. I say. You call him. His name is Ken Burke. His number is this. And I say my Dad’s number.

The help desk guy says, Hold on a sec. I have to get my manager’s permission to call.

I wait. It wasn’t long. But still more waiting.

He’s back on the phone. Ok. My manager says I can call. Where is your Dad?

In the Yukon. (AND NOBODY OUTSIDE THE YUKON REALLY KNOWS WHERE THE YUKON IS). So I clarify by saying. It’s in Canada. It’s the Canadian part of Alaska (AND THE WORLD NOW KNOWS EXACTLY where Alaska is–so it’s not a problem except most people retain the geo-region and name: Alaska) and forever reference Alaska instead of the Yukon which is a complete affront to any Yukonian–but now I’m digressing.)

Ok. What is his name? We start the whole entire painful process again. The names. The numbers. The spelling. The repeat spelling.

I think. This is too much. TOO MUCH. I interrupt and say. “I’m just going to call my Dad. I’ll conference you in.” I don’t even give him an option. “Hang on.”

I dial my parent’s number.
My Dad answers.
I conference in the Help Desk guy from India.
My Dad turns his computer on.
The Help Desk guy uses some new-fangled browsing technology to gain access to my parent’s desktop.
My Dad and I chat.
Occasionally, the guy from India pipes in to ask my Dad to click or restart.
THEN. It’s done.
In 15 minutes or less.

The world is a happier place.

Fly home…if you can. Partake in festive holiday drinking.
Play the ORIGINAL VINYL RECORD of Father Abraham in Smurfland album.
Phone family members and friends who are far away.
Play Smurfin’ Beer and sing karaoke into the phone.

{…hic..} sorry

First things first. I can feel a collective sigh of relief from the elections. Back to business as usual. Not to mention that it is good to be part of positive history for once: as in remembering where you were when Obama was elected President of the United States (as opposed to where you where when you heard about 9/11, or when they announce your country is at war). And as my friend Carol put it: “It’s about time there is a black family in the white house.” Then she giggled and said: “Oh my god. It even felt good to say that.”

Go Obama!

And our smart train (between Larkspur and Cloverdale) is also approved. YEAH!!!! Community transport. About time we get with the program. I’m hoping they put in one of those fast TGVs from France. 45 minutes to San Fran. I move with that.

All good things take time I guess.

And now, on another note (quite literally) my geek friend just called:

I answer: “Hello.” I’m tired from trying to get too many things done today.

“I just called to tell you about the freakiest iPod application.” (I miss working with geeks sometimes, they are so geeky). He’s excited and I’m tired. I get up to make myself a cup of tea.

“I was in my cube and I hear some flute music coming over from Frankie’s cube. But it doesn’t sound like his normal flute music…it’s got a bit of a different tone.” (Frankie is a former colleague who plays musical instruments — like wooden flutes — on his breaks.) “So I go over to investigate.”

Apparently, Frankie’s got this application on his iPhone. He’s one of a hundred or so who is in the beta testing. He can blow on the phone…and move his fingers on keys on the screen, and the phone plays his flute music. Like a flute–but it’s the iPhone.

Now, that’s pretty cool. He can blow on his phone and it plays his music, like he was playing one of his wooden flutes. Kinda geeky–and cool at the same time.

BUT. BUT. That’s not the coolest bit. The coolest bit is that he can look at a map OF WHERE ALL THE OTHER iPHONE flute players are CURRENTLY BLOWING ON THEIR iPHONE FLUTES…and he can touch ANY ONE OF THOSE dots on the map and now his phone WILL PLAY the other person’s music.

SO…he’s streaming somebody else who’s blowing on their iPhone.

Did you get that? Somewhere else in the world, there is another person blowing on their iPhone, and Frankie can see this AND HE CAN PLAY their notes from his iPhone.

My friend wondered if you could play more than one other person’s music, like a symphony of flute players.

I wonder if you can duet?

Am having a helluva week. Think I’m always trying to fit too many things into my schedule–hence the reason I bought the Covey file-o-fax thingie a few weeks ago. Think I have to make more of a commitment to get my life together.

Talked to my friend in Yellowknife twice this week. Am upset I didn’t tell her early enough I was visiting and we couldn’t get together–but had a fun time with family. Had an interesting talk about who we spend time with and why and had a few revelations out of that conversation. She’s doing well. Eating right and exercising (7lbs so far–you go girl!). She’s motivating me to get my shit together on the “taking-car-of-myself” front. I’m now working to create a workout schedule and a meal plan and all things involved with taking care of yourself.

Thursday, as I’m getting ready to board the plane to come home, my friend Kimberly calls to ask if I want to go out on Hallowe’en with her. I tell her I have a few parties planned, but she says come over beforehand and we’ll both get dressed up to go out. We’ll make it a girl’s night.

We had a lot of fun, I can’t believe we don’t have pictures. We’ll have to do it again I think–just for the fun factor of dressing up as wenches.

Spent another evening in San Fran catching up with another friend from Ottawa and having a few drinks with someone we’d met at the first Hallowe’en party. Interesting. Fun. Can’t say I made a great first impression though. Another thing I have to work on–sigh.

So. Statistically speaking, it’s just been a helluva week, month, year. I’m exhausted.

And there’s only one way to go from here.